


Strange Bedfellows

by kyrieanne



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrieanne/pseuds/kyrieanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leslie & Ben are forced to fake date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Leslie Knope has hated two men in her life: Bobby Drammer, who in sixth grade told her she’d never be the first woman president and Ben Wyatt, life ruiner and general human disaster. Leslie doesn’t do hate well; its like she is allergic to it. Her body rejects it. Her skin breaks out in a weird rash and she develops some sort of twitch. She looses words and generally stops being a functioning human being. With Bobby the solution had been simple:  run for student council, win, and knee him in the balls three years later when he tries to grope her at homecoming. Ben Wyatt, however, is, you know, more complicated.  
  
All of this is his fault. Him and his terrible face are the reason she sits in the empty fair grounds, amidst used popcorn containers and shut down games, with the fading melody of carnival rides lingering in the air. She wipes her eye with the back of her hand, blinks, and wills herself not to cry.  
  
It’s his fault she is sad and it should be like the happiest night of her life so she kind of hates him for ruining it. For that and being a dumb ass…  
  
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Let’s start at the beginning...  
  
***  
  
When the state auditors came to city hall, Leslie learns a hard lesson very quickly: her department is considered non-essiental. She knew that of course, but Ben Wyatt is happy to remind her.  
  
He’s also happy to remind her that if she wants to be elected someday she needs to prove herself responsible.  
  
She is happy to stick her tongue out behind his back and call him names over drinks at the Snakehole with Ann that night.  
  
“You know what you need to do Leslie,” Ann leans into Leslie’s shoulder and slurs the last bit of Leslie’s name. Leslie pats her best friend’s head.  
  
“What?”  
  
Ann wrinkles her nose, “I don’t remember, but it was a good idea.”  
  
But Leslie has her own ideas, “I need to prove them wrong. A town isn’t defined by its sanitation system or street lights. It’s the schools and green spaces that people look at. I can’t believe that people just want to sit in their homes and get fat, Ann. They want to be outside and they want to be together. But if we don’t give them the opportunity then we’ll all just die alone.”  
  
“Death!” Ann fist pumps.  
  
Leslie stands up which causes Ann to fall over, but Leslie doesn’t notice. She’s half away across the bar.  
  
“Where are you going?” Ann calls out.  
  
“I”m going to save Pawnee!”  
  
***  
  
It takes Leslie all night to think of the Harvest Festival and the idea doesn’t come until dawn when she is digging through one of the boxes in her dining room for her favorite waffle maker and comes across the old poster. It’s faded and torn in a corner, but Leslie lays it out on her kitchen table and stands back just to look at it. She can smell the caramel apples and funnel cakes. She can hear the kids laughing and the call of carnies tempting teenagers to try their hand at the games. And Leslie knows what she is going to do.  
  
It takes her a few more days to get her thoughts together. In that time the government is shut down, but that fact barely registers with Leslie. This is such a great idea surely no one is going to tell her no…  
  
Except he does. Without looking at her report or poster or listening to the theme song she recorded. In fact Ben barely glances up from the spread sheets on his desk.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ms. Knope but the government is  _shut down_. That means nothing except essential services.”  
  
Leslie’s lips thin. She’s not sure what is more infuriating: the fact that he won’t even bother to look at her or the forced formality by calling her Ms. Knope.  
  
She stomps her foot, “This is essential.”  
  
Finally, his head bobs up and his jaw is set askew, “This isn’t the playground. You’re not going to get your way by throwing a fit.”  
  
“That’s not what I’m doing. If you would just read my report.”  
  
Ben holds up the folder, “This? Is there a financial viability analysis in here because even if the government wasn’t shut down I couldn’t approve it unless there was a profit. The days of big programs just cause they seem like a good idea are over…”  
  
“If it doesn’t make a profit you can use my salary to cover the difference…” Leslie says it so quickly that the tremble that runs down her arms doesn’t have time to catch up.  
  
Ben jerks his head a little, “You’d put your job on the line for this?”  
  
She swallows, “Yes. Things like this matter. It’s what makes Pawnee Pawnee and I think when the going gets rough we can’t just shut down and hide. We have to dream big or what’s the point?”  
  
Ben sits back in his chair and Leslie can feel his gaze take her in, zero in on whatever it was about her he is assessing. She stands taller and tries to look calm and professional when really she is sweating bullets under her blazer. Whatever Ben was contemplating he is done because he puts the report down and lays his hands flat on his desk before exhaling, “Leslie, I can’t let you wager your job. It’s not worth the risk.”  
  
“But if I’m willing…”  
  
“But I’m not,” he stops her, “the shut down won’t last forever and when everyone comes back we’re going to need our best people. And Ron Swanson says you’re the best there is…”  
  
“I’m good because I do things like this. Let me do my job.”  
  
He folds his hands and leans onto both elbows, “And let me do mine and help Pawnee. My answer is no.”  
  
Leslie inhales, “You have no idea what is good for Pawnee.”  
  
“I’m sorry you think that.” He has already dropped her report into a giant stack and moved on to another spread sheet. The calmness in his voice infuriates Leslie. She wants to yell and lecture and stomp her foot some more, but he’d only make fun of her again. Responsible and professional, she thinks, she has to remain responsible and professional. This…man is not going to get the better of her.  
  
“I’m just sorry you don’t have a heart.”  Yeah, that wasn’t exactly responsible and professional, but it did feel good…  
  
“I think we’re done here…” Ben rises.  
  
“You have no idea…” Leslie blusters and in her desperate attempt to get out of Ben’s office and as far away from him as she could before she lets herself tear up she fails to register the tall, leggy brunette standing outside the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Leslie may fail to see the leggy brunette, but she does register Chris who is talking to the assistant he and Ben share. He is in the midst of a detailed description of the correct way to use a post-it note and barely sees her before she escapes.  
  
“Leslie Knope, come back here!”  
  
 _So close…_

 

“Hey…” She pastes on a smile.  
  
“Leslie Knope, there is someone I want you to meet,” Chris guides her by the arm to the leggy brunette. At second glance, Leslie sees that she’s older, probably in her early forties, in a smart suit and wears a bored expression, “Leslie, this is our boss Penelope. She just got into town today.”  
  
“Um, hello…” Leslie stumbles and sticks out her hand. She can see the figure of Ben through the shaded glass moving toward the door. She doesn't want to see him again. Not until she composes herself, has a chance to regroup.  
  
“Hello,” the woman doesn’t offer her hand in return. Leslie drops hers and wipes it on her skirt.  
  
“Chris I’m late for something important so I’m going to go, but nice to meet you Penny.”  
  
“It’s Penelope.”  
  
But Leslie doesn’t bother to stick around for the correction. She backs out of the room, bumps into the door, and spins away into the hallway as fast as she can.  
  
***  
  
Leslie takes refuge on the bench beneath the flower mural on the third floor. She doesn't cry exactly because she won't let herself. She fists her hands, rubs her eyes with her sleeve, allows a few deep, rickety breaths, and tells herself to calm down.  
  
It isn't that she's upset at being told no. Ron tells her no all the time. It's because that terrible, terrible man named Ben Wyatt made her feel like a fool. Calling her Mrs. Knope and telling her this isn't a playground. Doesn't he realize how much she cares? Doesn't he understand that she is good at this? She knows she's good at this. When her co-workers look at her askance or mumble about her enthusiasm Leslie is okay because she knows they respect her deep down. They appreciate how hard she works and when she really needs help, they always show up. She looks down at her padfolio, which sits next to her on the bench, and thinks of all the potential with this Harvest Festival. It would give everyone something to rally around and show off the best of Pawnee. It is the perfect idea...  
  
But Ben Wyatt with his stupid hair that he probably spends an hour on every morning and his skinny ties...somehow he can't see it. And that bothers her, gets to her, more than Leslie would like to admit.  
  
"So um, this mural has something to do with a hanging I think..."  
  
Ben's voice echos off the walls; he's coming down the adjacent hall. Leslie lets out a little  _eep_  and straightens. She can hear his shoes padding the linoleum and the click of heels following him.  
  
"And all of these departments have been shut down? No one is here right?" The second voice belongs to Pippy or whatever the name is of Ben's boss.  
  
Leslie swallows and slowly stands up. Their footfalls are coming closer; there is no way she is going to let them see her with red rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. She scans the hall and sees a custodian's closet. She can hide in there until they pass by. The best murals are beyond this hall. Surely that's where Ben is headed. Once they turn the other corner Leslie can sneak downstairs and no one will be the wiser. She opens the door and thanks the City Hall gods that the hinges don't squeak. Afraid they'll hear the  _click_ Leslie leaves the tiniest crack open as she steps back into the shadows.  
  
"Um, yeah. They're non-essential for now, but I hope we'll be able to open them back up mid-way through the summer."  
  
She can't really see them and this closet smells like wet mop. Leslie tries not to breathe too deep lest she gag. The click of heels stops not far in front of the bench she was just sitting on. Ben's footsteps continue and then stop.  
  
"You said you wanted a tour. There are some more murals around the corner..." Leslie can almost see him looking back over his shoulder, one hand in a pocket, and the other pointing down the hall.  
  
"Let's sit," Phyllis, or whatever her name is, says.  
  
Leslie frowns. She's trying to remember if the woman was beautiful, but doesn't think so. She does remember she is tall with legs a mile long and that she's old. Well, not old. Just older than Ben. Definitely older. Though she doesn't know why that matters to her...  
  
"Okay," Ben says and Leslie's cheek twitches. From the titter in his voice she knows he's uneasy.  
  
There is a shuffling of feet and Leslie leans closer to the crack in the door, hoping to catch a glimpse, but she can't see anything except a shaft of light. They sit there in silence for a while and Leslie imagines Ben is sitting up very straight with his hands clutched in his lap.  
  
"Benjamin," Phoebe's voice drops, "you know how much I respect you, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess." Ben's voice has gone faint and Leslie can picture him leaning away, on the edge of the bench  
  
The woman's voice goes even lower, "You are just so young and charming...it's like you have this irresistible power over people. You make them want to do all sorts of things to you."  
  
"You mean for me, right? I think most people like Chris more. He's the..."  
  
"They just don't see how magnetic you are."  
  
"Okay that's my thigh..."  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize."  
  
"Yeah, let's go with that. I think um," his voice cracks, "Chris is waiting for us downstairs."  
  
"Chris can wait."  
  
"No, really he can't." And he leaps up, crosses the hall and takes refuge against the wall right outside the closet door.  
  
"Benjamin, am I making you uncomfortable?" This woman stands up and crosses over to him. Leslie is straining so hard to see something that she almost falls into a stack of brooms.  
  
"No, I think it's just time that we..." and Ben's voice trails off as if he's seen something that has distracted him.  
  
Pearl's voice has changed. It's sugary sweet now, "I don't think we need to go anywhere just yet." And there is a thud against the wall and Leslie is pretty sure the woman pushed Ben into it. Her mouth forms a little O. Should she go out there and help? Do men need help when they're being sexually harassed?  
  
 Leslie does almost whenever she is faced with an impossible situation. She asks, WWRD?:  _what would Ron do?_ And the answer is easy: definitely don't go out there. The feminist in her cries in outrage. If Ben was a woman and the roles reversed Leslie wouldn't think twice about it, but she doesn't want to make her presence known. It'd be so awkward for him and for her...  
  
 _If_ it gets dangerous and she thinks Ben is in trouble then she'll intervene....  
  
Petunia kisses Ben. She can hear his gasp of surprise and then him push her away and Leslie finds she's been holding her breath the entire time.  
  
"See that wasn't so bad..." she laughs and Leslie imagines her shaking her long brown hair with satisfaction.  
  
"Penelope," Ben stutters, "Penelope, that can't happen."  
  
"And why not?"  
  
 _Because I'm not interested..._ Leslie realizes she's finishing his sentence, but she pushes the stray thought aside.  
  
"Because I have a girlfriend..."  
  
 _He does?_  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Yes, yes I do," Ben stumbles, "I met her here in Pawnee and I...I like her very much. Like in a romantic way. Like when a boy meets a girl and..."  
  
"What's her name?"  
  
"Leslie Knope."  
  
Leslie almost falls over, but she braces herself against the door jamb.  
  
Penelope scoffs, "You mean that woman with bad hair dye job I met coming out of your office?"  
  
"Her hair's pretty..." Ben says like it is a reflect and recovers, "And yes, I guess you did meet her. And she's my girlfriend and so you can't do that...that thing you just did. Because of her and my feelings for her..."  
  
There is the click of heels as if Penelope has to pace a little, to take it all in, and Leslie wishes she could do the same. She doesn't believe a word he says, but why her? Of all the women in Pawnee, why would her name be the first one on his lips?  
  
"You know what marks a modern woman, Ben?" Penelope says, but doesn't wait for him to answer, "She sees something she wants and takes it. And you know what I want?"  
  
"More vacation time?"  
  
Leslie smiles a little in pity. He sounds so desperately befuddled.  
  
"I want you."  
  
"But see there's Leslie and she's my girlfriend and..."  
  
"I don't believe you," Penelope laughs, "I think you're making her up because you're afraid of what might happen if we were together."  
  
"I'm...I'm...I'm not afraid and I didn't make her up. She's a real person. You met her."  
  
"I don't think you're really dating her cause in the past three years you've never dated any one in any town I've ever assigned you too."  
  
"But...but there is no way for you to know that..."  
  
"I keep track, Ben, of the things I want."  
  
"You were married until nine months ago," he blusters.  
  
"Details," she shrugs, "All I know is that you never date anyone so why would I believe you now."  
  
"Because it's true," Ben deadpans, "she's different than other girls. Yes, she's weirdly over enthusiastic and strangely convinced that Pawnee is the best town in the world, but she's smart and capable and I care about her. A lot."  
  
Leslie wrinkles her nose. She knows he's lying and still can't even pretend to believe him.  
  
Penelope juts her chin out ( _or Leslie imagines she does_ ),"Prove it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Prove that she's your girlfriend. Bring her to Indianapolis."  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"Or I won't recommend you for that position in the governor's office I know you planned on applying for at the end of the summer."  
  
"You're blackmailing me?"  
  
Penelope closes in, "Think of it as a guarantee on your future. I know you would do anything to recompense that little Ice Town incident. I don't like being told no, Ben. And I don't like being lied too. So if you ever want to be more than a traveling numbers robot, you'll produce this blond girlfriend of yours in Indianapolis next week."  
  
And then she is gone. Her heels click down the hall and Leslie stands silently in the custodian closet listening to their descending echo. She rubs her hands on her skirt and replays in her mind what she just witnessed.  
  
It is like a bad movie premise...why would Penelope, who by all appearances was an accomplished government official, care who Ben dated? And to threaten his job? Was she that insecure? Leslie didn't think a woman could be that insecure...  
  
And then Leslie realizes she knows a women like that already...Lindsay Carlisle Shay. It may not have been over a man, but Leslie can see the similarities: the put-on front, the desperation, and willingness to stoop to any antic, even betraying your best friend, to get what you think you deserve. Lindsay got what she wanted and Penelope, while she may not get Ben, at least he doesn't dismiss her outright. And playing by the rules, where did that leave Leslie? Well, standing in a janitor's closet.  
  
She hears Ben sigh. He walks over to the bench and sits down. She imagines he hangs his head and leans his elbows on his knees. She frowns. Is it possible that she feels bad for him?  
  
 _Yeah, it is._  
  
She does feel bad. It's as if mean Ben has disappeared and replaced by a stuttering human disaster. Her picture of his shifts a little, refocuses. He isn't just the state auditor there to destroy her town anymore. He's got a past and feelings...  
  
 _Damnit._ Her forehead falls against the door jamb, makes a little  _thud_ , and she catches her breath. Did he hear her?  
  
And for what feels like an eternity, Leslie holds her breath. He doesn't move or say anything and just as soon as she thinks she's safe...  
  
"I know you're there. You can just come out."  
  
***  
  
She seriously considers staying in the closet, but she knows he'll wait her out. So Leslie exhales, flexes her fingers once, twice, and pushes the door open.  
  
She was right - he is leaned over, elbows on knees, and when she meets his eye the corner of his mouth twitches up.  
  
"Ben, I'm sorry -," she starts.  
  
He exhales and sits up, "I'm sorry you had to see that Ms. Knope."  
  
She can see the fake formality coming over him again, how he ducks his eyes from hers, rubs his hands together, and she rolls her eyes, "Ben, stop calling me that."  She sits down next to him and sees the padfolio on the bench between them, "So that's how you knew I was here."  
  
"Yeah," he slumps down in his seat.  
  
She looks sideways at him, catches his profile, and thinks  _damnit_ _why couldn't he just stay a facist numbers robot?_  
  
"So what are we going to do?"  
  
"We?" He laughs.  
  
"I mean you do like me. In a romantic way. Like when a boy meets a girl and..."  
  
He groans, "You're not going to let me live this down are you?"  
  
"No, I'm going to help you."  
  
"Leslie, seriously this isn't your problem. I can deal with it on my own."  
  
"Like you dealt with it just now?"  
  
Ben rubs a hand over his face and lets his head fall back against the wall. Leslie turns toward him, tucking her legs up under her, and leans an elbow on the back of the bench. He props an eye open, "What did you have in mind?"  
  
"You take me to Indianapolis as your pretend girlfriend next week and I'll make sure Penelope never suspects a thing. And then at the end of the summer you'll get that recommendation and you never have to deal with her again. Sweet and simple."  
  
He sits up and looks straight at her, "You'd do that for me."  
  
She shifts a little, "Of course. I mean don't flatter yourself. I'd do it for anyone."  
  
His eyes narrow, "Really?"  
  
"Well, probably not Jerry..."

He is silent for a while and Leslie finds her eyes darting to his hands. His fingers are long, nails clipped close and clean, and she can see the muscles strain in his wrists when he fists them. "I can't let you..."  
  
"Ben," she tentatively puts a hand on his upper arm, "let me be your friend."  
  
He shifts away from her and Leslie pretends not to notice. He goes back to leaning over his knees, hands clasped together and says, "What's in it for you?"  
  
She cocks her head, "Nothing. I don't need anything from you."  
  
"No," he swallows, "I'll help you get the Harvest Festival off the ground. Make sure it'll make a profit and get Chris and the City Council to approve it." He doesn't look at her, nods, "This has to be a fair exchange otherwise it won't work. You help me out with Penelope and I'll help you with the Harvest Festival. Those are the rules."  
  
It occurs to Leslie that he's doing it again, the strange formality that keeps people at a distance, but she doesn't dwell on it. Her mind is already flying to the possibility of the Harvest Festival...  
  
"Fine," she agrees, "so how exactly do we do this?"


	3. Chapter 3

“What am I doing here?”  
  
Leslie looks up from her Blackberry. Ben stands at the edge of the table with his hands out.  Leslie waits a beat, scans the restaurant one more time for anyone they know, and hisses, “I told you already on the phone - I’m terrible on first dates.”  
  
Ben’s head quirks sideways, “But this is all pretend. You get that, right?”  
  
She closes her eyes.  _Does he really think she’s that dense?_  
  
“Yes, I know that,” she says and motions for him to sit down, “besides you’re not my type.”  
  
Ben tugs on the front of his suit coat and Leslie realizes that he dressed up for this. Sort of. The tie is still one of those skinny ones he likes, but the navy suit looks smart on him. And his hair is doing the half-standing-up thing that puts him just on this side of debonair dishevelment…if that’s a thing. The whole picture turns something over in her stomach and Leslie sits up straighter.  
  
“Oh, okay,” he swallows and then his eyes narrow, “So explain to me why we’re here.”  
  
“If I’m terrible on first dates imagine how bad I would be on a pretend first date…” He just blinks at her, waiting for her to finish and Leslie rolls her eyes, “I’m going to be nervous. So I thought we could get our pretend first date out of the way. I mean your entire career is riding on this and I don’t want to screw it up. ” She can feel the heat rise in her neck and picks up the menu to distract herself.  
  
“Oh,” Ben considers it for moment, “that’s really nice of you.”  
  
“Imagine that.”  
  
Before Ben can say anything their waitress appears and both of them order. Leslie forgoes the temptation to order breakfast for dinner because pretend or not, this is a first date and whipped cream sometimes gives her one of those mustaches. Ben orders a salad before his meal and he catches Leslie frowning at him.  
  
“What? I like vegetables.”  
  
“Nerd,” When Ben looks put out she lets out a laugh that might be too loud for a real first date, “what’s so funny?”  
  
“You’re so easy to rile up. Loosen up a bit and maybe people wouldn’t pick on you so easily.”  
  
“People don’t pick on me.”  
  
“Yeah, Tom’s just joshing you cause he respects you.”  
  
Ben rounds his shoulders and becomes preoccupied with unfolding his napkin and putting it in his lap, “You just used the word joshing.”  
  
“So?”  
  
His forehead wrinkles, “You’re kind of a nerd too. It’s a tad hypocritical, don’t you think?”  
  
Leslie chews her bottom lip. This isn’t how she planned on this going.  
  
Leslie did her research - she’d borrowed every cheesy romantic comedy in Ann’s collection and spent the night taking notes. In her purse is an entire pile of notecards with topics they need to discuss…  
  
She exhales, “Let’s try this again.”  
  
“It’s your experiment,” he shrugs.  
  
“Okay, let’s just talk about how this would play out if it were real. Say for instance, in some parallel universe we actually liked each other I would probably send you a singing telegram to ask you out and -,”  
  
“Wait, you’d ask me out?”  
  
“Yeah, this is the 21st century,” Leslie says, “Why do you think a woman can’t ask a man out?”  
  
“No, I just think I would’ve been the one to make the first move.” Ben takes a sip of his water. His shoulders aren’t hunched up anymore and he’s sitting back in his chair. It may not be the easy rapport she was hoping for, but she’ll take it.  
  
“Fine. You asked me out. How?”  
  
“Um, I’d just be straight forward about it after one of the Emergency Budget Task Force meetings. Of course,  I’d wait until after we’d gone over the Parks budget so not to deal with any murky ethics. And you’re always staying after to talk to me…”  
  
“That’s because you won’t listen.”  
  
Ben holds up both hands, “Remember this is a parallel universe where we actually like each other. Let’s assume I’m a better listener and you’re ideas are less…”  
  
“You don’t want to finish that,” Leslie mumbles and Ben wisely obeys.  
  
“Anyway,” he leans both elbows on the table, hunkers down and Leslie finds herself inextricably pulled in closer so their heads are bent over the votives burning between them, “I’d ask you if I could take you out to dinner and you would say yes and I would say Friday when really I wouldn’t want to wait. But I don’t want to scare you off so I wait.”  
  
Leslie swallows, “And then?”  
  
Ben shrugs, “I’d spend the next few days hoping to see you even though city hall is closed down. And I’d scout out the restaurant the night before just to make sure its good. Oh, and I’d spend way too much time trying to decide which tie to wear.”  
  
“And would you pick me up?  
  
“Nope,” he says and holds up a hand, “not cause I wouldn’t want to, but I don’t think you’d let me. I think you’d insist on meeting me because it makes you feel like a feminist. I’d get there a half hour early because I’d be afraid of being late. Your turn…”  
  
Leslie was caught off guard. She hadn’t expected Ben would be so into…describing their pretend first date… But they are both leaning over the table and this is the closest she’s ever been to his face, his terrible, terrible face, and she notices that his eyes aren’t just brown. There are little gold flecks in there that catch the light when he looks straight at you.  
  
“Um,” she bobbles the water glass but recovers, “I’d make Ann go shopping with me to find a new dress. One that said sophisticated with a hint of slutty. And I’d want to accidentally bump into you at City Hall, but I’d be too afraid so I’d stay home and make conversation note cards instead.”  
  
“Really?” he smiles.  
  
Leslie smiles too, “Yeah, and I’d memorize them. It’s a thing I do for first dates. I try to think of all the interesting things we could talk about. I do a pretty exhaustive google search on the person to find interesting factoids…”  
  
“What interesting thing would you find about me?”  
  
That one is easy, “I’d ask you about Icetown and being a ma -,”  
  
It’s as if someone had dropped a glass or the earth had suddenly moved beneath them. Ben recoils and looks at his left knee. Leslie trails off.  
  
“I’m sorry, did I say something?”  
  
But Ben doesn’t respond for a second. He runs a hand through his hair and rocks a bit, looking not at her but everywhere else.  
  
“Ben?”  
  
Finally, a glance.  
  
“Can we not talk about that?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m sorry.”  
  
He closes his eyes and opens them, “I know. And I know you’re interested because you want to run for office some day but I just don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“Alright…” Leslie trails off and the thought doesn’t escape her that she never told him she wanted to run for office…  
  
“Um,” Ben leans forward again, elbows on the table, “let’s just start over.”  
  
“Okay…” Leslie’s unsure how.  
  
And as a peace offering, Ben gestures toward her, “Tell me about Lot 48.”  
  
“How do know about Lot 48?”  
  
He smiles, “You’re not the only one who can use google.”  
  
So she tells him about Lot 48 and how she met Ann. She doesn’t leave out the parts about falling in or the botched stake out because this isn’t a real first date. He laughs at her description of Andy poking his head up like a prairie dog and whistles in admiration when she describes trying to fill in the pit. She doesn’t have to worry about if she’s talking too much or whether he’ll kiss her at the end because he won’t and she doesn’t want him too. It is almost like a real date except without the liking-each-other bits and Leslie can’t help but think she’d be better at first dates if they were more normal, like this one. Their meals come and half-way through she excuses herself to go to the bathroom and he stands up. She stops.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Um, standing up.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because that’s what you do…” He’s seems unsure why she’s confused.  
  
“Because that’s what you do when?”  
  
“…when a woman leaves the table.” Ben jerks his chin a little, like he can’t believe he has to explain this to her.  
  
“Oh,” Leslie straightens and escapes to the bathroom.  
  
She takes longer to dry her hands, wiping the paper towel between each finger, and chews on her bottom lip. He does it again when she returns and Leslie presses a hand to her stomach when it flutters.  
  
Somehow Ben gets talking about being on the road with Chris and the votive candles go out. They relax into their chairs and Leslie leans one arm on the table as Ben reenacts Chris trying to say no. She laughs and it seems to make him smile a funny smile, one that she’d label truly happy. Their eyes meet and she lingers too long in the look. The restaurant is emptying from the dinner crowd and they are still here. Leslie has to check her stomach when it lurches for the third time that night.  
  
The waitress asks if they want dessert and Leslie doesn’t hesitate. She orders chocolate cake and Ben asks for just a cup of coffee.  
  
“You’re not going to get dessert?”  
  
He shrugs, “Nah, I’m not much of a sweets person. More savory.”  
  
“No,” Leslie shakes her head, “How can you not like dessert?”  
  
Ben sits up and clears his throat, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”  
  
“I just can’t understand how you don’t like dessert.”  
  
Ben looks around the room as if someone will explain her reaction to him, “You sound mad that I don’t like dessert.”  
  
“I’m not mad…” she sputters, “I just don’t understand. I mean, who doesn’t like dessert?”  
  
Ben’s lips thin, “Is this actually about dessert cause it doesn’t feel like it is.”  
  
“What else would it be about?”  
  
Ben runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, but are we actually arguing about dessert?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He looks at her incredulously, rolls his eyes, and says, “Jesus Christ, you are something else.”  
  
“I think I should be offended.”  
  
“I mean you are actually mad at me because I don’t want dessert. You don’t see that as being, I don’t know, a bit weird?”  
  
“Leslie! Ben!”  
  
Both of them look up to see Chris from across the room, grinning and waving at them, and Ann behind him with a very arched eyebrow.  
  
***  
  
“What…what are you doing here?”  
  
Leslie says it to Ann, her voice faint at the end, but Chris thinks she talking to him.  
  
He smiles even harder, if that’s possible and says, “Ann Perkins and I are on a date.”  
  
“Oh, well then we should get going. We’re going home to our own homes because this was just about business so why would we go anywhere else but our own private, individual homes? Silly to think otherwise, really. Come on, Ben. Let’s let these two love birds get on with it.” Leslie says. She throws Ben a look as she starts to stand, but he just shrugs.  
  
She’ll have to lecture him on being sneaky later. If they don’t get out of here Chris is going to think that they’re on a date and then the whole thing will be ruined. Chris won’t let Ben date Leslie, even pretend date Leslie, if he’s still overseeing the Parks budget. The whole reason this was going to work was if Chris never actually found out. Does Ben not get this?  
  
And from the way Ann hasn’t stopped staring Leslie down since they saw each other,Leslie’s pretty sure she’s going to have some explaining to do to her best friend later.  
  
 _Ugh._  Either way she just needs to get out of here…fast.  
  
“Ben, come on. Let’s go,” she says through gritted teeth. Their eyes meet and she tries to tell him, soundlessly, how dangerous this was, but he makes the smallest, almost imperceptible twitch with his cheek. She frowns because there is no way he doesn’t get this…but then he stands up and pulls out his wallet. He leaves way too much money because they never actually got a bill and she exhales happily.  
  
“Leslie,” Chris leans in a little, “you don’t need to pretend around me. I know. Ben told me all about it.”  
  
“I never actually told you anything,” Ben scratches his ear.  
  
“Well, I can read between the lines,” Chris says, “I mean you recuse yourself from the Parks budget and now you’re out to dinner with the lovely Leslie Knope. You two are on a date.”  
  
“Yup, we’re on a date. You guessed it.”  
  
“I did!” Chris sounds like he just won a game show.  
  
“Leslie,” Ben offers a hand and when she doesn’t move he leans across the table, hooks it under her elbow, and guides her to his side. He lifts a hand to say goodbye to Chris and Ann and with the other finds the small of her back.  
  
“Bye Ben! Bye Leslie! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Chris yells it as they leave and Leslie swears she hears him clap at the end.  
  
“Just get out the door before you start,” Ben says it low and in her ear. His hand is still on her back and she can’t help but notice the pressure there, how steady and almost…manly it is. If that makes sense.  
  
But she doesn’t get further than that because then they are outside ( _he holds the door open for her_ ) and she spins on him.  
  
“You recused yourself?”  
  
But Ben doesn’t answer her. He keeps on walking - past their cars, to the end of the parking lot, and down the street. Leslie follows. He checks behind him once to make sure she is still there and Leslie almost stops, walks away, and goes home to make s’mores and think of a new plan to get the Harvest Festival off the ground. Then he stops and waits for her to catch up. He shrugs off his suit coat and holds it out to her.  
  
“I’m not carrying your coat,” she says.  
  
He closes his eyes and says, “The sun is setting. You’re going to be cold.” He looks to their left and Leslie eyes follow. She doesn’t know how she failed to notice it, but he’d led them down to a park. It isn’t a large one, just a corner lot with some benches, but it overlooks a golf course and some hills and there is a fantastic sunset about to happen.  
  
But Ben’s not about sunsets and romantic spots.  She grabs the coat and pushes past him toward the furthest bench. She ignores the smirk on his face and the way he stuffs his hands in his pockets and ambles to where she is sitting, instead she punches her arms through his stupid coat. In the few moments it takes him to reach her and in that moment she rounds her shoulders, feels the heat from his body that soaked into the wool, and inhales. He smells like Old Spice and pencil shavings. It makes Leslie think he probably uses pencils rather than pens, prefers the wooden ones to the mechanical ones, and probably has a pencil sharpener on his desk. And her stomach does the flip flop thing again.  
  
He reaches her and sits down so they are a few inches apart.  
  
“You recused yourself,” It is quieter this time she says it.  
  
He nods, “I had to.”  
  
“The ethics.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He’s right. It hadn’t sat right with her since they made their deal, but Leslie told herself to look at the bigger picture. She told herself it was for Pawnee and they’d do it right - that it would be a smashing success so who cares if the how got a little murky?  
  
“Chris was going to find out one way or the other,” Ben says, “Penelope is not exactly subtle. And if the Harvest Festival doesn’t work, if there is a freak accident or something, people will start to ask questions. They’ll take a look at you and, pretend dating non-with standing, they’ll think you got your project approved because you slept with some guy and that’ll ruin any sort of future you have in politics.”  
  
Leslie lets his explanation sink in. She isn’t fooled; she knows he is covering his own ass as much as her’s. It was the fact that he’d thought of her and her future that what took getting used to.  
  
He looks at her now. His head is tilted sideways and his face is kind of scrunched up. She’s not sure what the look means, but it’s pressure builds in her chest and she can feel every nerve in her body. The moment stills and something terribly wonderful and frightening at the same time is happening in her chest, a flipping over and turning inside out.  
  
“So um,” Leslie tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. She has to break it, whatever it is, “how exactly are we going to make the Harvest Festival happen then?”  
  
Ben breaks his gaze and Leslie exhales in relief.  
  
“The deal hasn’t changed. I’m still going to help you pull it off,” he grins sheepishly, “I’m really good with numbers and I know Chris. Trust me, we’ll be the dynamic duo.”  
  
Leslie nods. She likes the idea - the two of them. It meant she wasn’t completely on her own. Her co-workers and friends were diligent executors of her plans, but it might be nice to have someone to plan with. But that flipping over and turning inside out feeling sneaks back and winds its way around her heart and Leslie worries that maybe she doesn’t realize what she’s gotten herself into.


	4. Chapter 4

Leslie knows what is supposed to happen to those flip flop feelings going on in her stomach.  
  
  
It’ll be her first because that is what happens in the rom-com, right? Girl meets impossible boy, girl finds out impossible boy is actually sweet and old fashioned, and then girl falls in love with said impossible boy. Of course, he’s always got some minor demon - a crushed heart or disappointing family life - that the girl doesn’t know about. Without knowing she becomes the answer to the question he’s never even be able to ask.  She gives him reason to change, drains the cynicism right out of him like some sort of hope-vampire, and the lesson at the end of the movie is that if you are yourself someone, surely, will love you.  
  
Yeah, Leslie knows that’s how its supposed to happen. She’s watched enough of Ann’s movies to get the script.  
  
The problem is Leslie isn’t the heroine in a romantic comedy. She’s just trying to put on a fair.  
  
So the flip flop thingies? Those need to go.  
  
Besides, she isn’t stupid. She isn’t going to fall in love with a guy because he stood up when she went to pee and was smart enough to make sure they both don’t get fired. In fact she’s a little annoyed that she didn’t think to have him recuse himself on her own. She kicks herself for that one the rest of the night.  
  
So when Ann calls at 1:00 a.m. looking for an explanation, Leslie has a whole speech prepared about how she’s got this under control.  
  
“Are you insane?” Ann doesn’t even pause after Leslie finishes, “you really think this is about the Harvest Festival?”  
  
“Of course it is,” Leslie insists. She sits up in bed, “what else would it be about. Ben? I told you I’m not interested.”  
  
“I believe you,” Ann says, “If you were you would just ask him out. But stop telling me this is about the Harvest Festival.”  
  
“Then what is this about, genius?” Leslie picks at her pillow case.  
  
“You want to be hero.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Leslie,” Ann gentles her voice, “you like to fix things. You like to be the hero. I’m not saying you hog the line light. Just that you like to save the day. The most reasonable thing for Ben to do is to either confront this Penelope woman or -,”  
  
“He can’t. He turns into some sort of human disaster when she’s around.”  
  
“Well that’s Ben’s problem.”  
  
“And I’m trying to help him.”  
  
“No, you’re trying to solve it for him. If he can’t confront her then he needs to go above her head and report her. It’s sexual harassment and he doesn’t have to put up with it. Fake dating is the least helpful thing you could do for him.”  
  
“But it’ll be fun,” Leslie mumbles.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’ll be fun,” Leslie says and it isn’t easy to admit but she’s kind of excited to do this. It is like reporting herself to the ethics committee after that disastrous dinner party for Justin, dreaming up her own future political scandal, or solving a mystery on a train. It is all thrilling and exciting: to pretend to be someone you’re not, to help someone, and to save the town. It's the female version of “get the girl,” unless of course you are a lesbian then you do want the girl. Are there any lesbian romantic comedies? If there are Leslie thinks she should probably see them. That would be the informed, culturally sensitive thing to do, right? That is why she never misses a Tyler Perry movie.  
  
Ann drags her back to reality, “Leslie, this is a man’s career we’re talking about. This isn’t about fun. This isn’t a movie. There could be real consequences.”  
  
***  
  
“So I take a left at the stop light?” Leslie tucks the phone up to her ear.  
  
“And then a right on Farve and left on Indigo. My apartment building is on the left and-,”  
  
“One direction at a time. I can only do one direction at a time.” Leslie hisses. She’s told him that twenty times already. Once each time she’s called him between Pawnee and Indianapolis. Leslie turns left and repeats "right on Farve" to herself. Ben sighs over the phone.  
  
“Do you want me to just come get you?”  
  
“No, I’m five minutes away. I’ll be fine,” she snaps the phone shut and drops it onto the passenger seat of her car. She alternates between wiping her hands on her thighs and looking for Farve.  
  
Ben called her Friday night. She had been out with Ann and the rest of the Parks department on a celebratory “F-you” to Pawnee's government officials for putting them on furlough for the whole summer. She ducked outside the Snakehole and mumbled an apology for not inviting him. But Ben had been weird about it, like there was no reason she would have invited him in the first place, and gone into his formal mode.  
  
“We’re not friends,” he repeated once or twice, “you don’t owe me an invitation.”  
  
He told her that his boss’s boss was hosting a picnic tomorrow in Indianapolis for all state finance employees, an annual get together and probably their best time to try and convince Penelope they were dating.  
  
“I know it is late notice,” he said in a hurry, “so you probably have plans.”  
  
She did, but Leslie always had plans. Picking up trash in Ramsett Park could wait for any Saturday morning though. She stopped Ben, “I’ll be there.”  
  
They decide to meet at his apartment because it is easier. Ben had already driven up there Friday after work because, as he said, what else would he do? They’d go to the picnic together and afterwards Leslie would return home in her own car. Neat, nice, and simple.  
  
Was it a right or a left on Farve? She takes a left, goes three stop lights, and turns around. She finds Indigo and just guesses. She guesses correctly, but still misses the building. By the time she circles the parking lot Ben is standing in the front yard waving one arm. She parks and he meets her in the grass, a hand shading his eyes.  
  
He stops and cocks his head.  
  
“What?” Leslie doesn’t look at him. She is digging in her purse for chapstick.  
  
“In our pretend world of dating I’m buying you a GPS for Christmas.”  
  
“Fine,” she is annoyed because her chapstick cap came off and now everything in her purse is waxy and smells like cherries, “whatever.”  
  
“Is that what you are wearing?”  
  
She stops and looks at him. He is serious.  
  
Is that what he is wearing? Khaki cargo shorts and a plaid button down. Does he not have a sense of decorum? He rolled up the sleeves and left it untucked. He is wearing a pair of indoor soccer shoes with those little white socks that Leslie is against because they make her feet feel fat. But the bone that bumps out on the inside of your ankle - whatever that bone is called - well, his shows because of those socks and Leslie finds herself strangely affected by seeing them. It feels oddly intimate and casual and she forces herself to look up before he notices.  
  
“Um, what is wrong with what I am wearing?”  
  
“You’re wearing a blazer.”  
  
“So? You said it was a work function.”  
  
“It’s a family picnic. You know, with kids and those inflatable games and hot dogs. Plus it is summer.”  
  
She looks down at her dress and blazer.  
  
“Fine, I’ll change.”  
  
“You brought a change of clothes?”  
  
“I always have a change of clothes,” she opens her trunk, pushes the S’mores kit aside, and opens her traveling garment bag, “Converse,” she thrusts the shoes over her shoulder and Ben takes them automatically, “jeans and -,” she straightens up and considers. She has a blouse, but details mattered, right? “Do you have an extra plaid? I have an idea.”  
  
***  
  
“I can’t believe I let you coordinate what we’re wearing,” Ben mumbles as they pull into the park entrance.  
  
“Come on, Benji that’s what girlfriends do!” Leslie tips her head and bats her eyelashes once, twice.  
  
Ben doesn’t say anything. He gets out of his car and at that moment Leslie’s phone beeps. It’s a text from Ann.  
  
 _This is a bad idea._  
  
She frowns and deletes the message. She reaches for the door handle, but it’s not there. Instead, Ben stands there holding the door open.  
  
“Is this like your schtick?” Leslie climbs out of the car, “you hold door open for women and they sleep with you?”  
  
She underestimated how small the space was between cars and when she stands upright she is millimeters from his face. She does a double take and steps back automatically, bumps into the car.  
  
“Easy,” he laughs. His fingers skim her hip, steady her, and their eyes meet. Those stupid flutterings return and Leslie simultaneously damns him to hell and notices he didn’t shave this morning. Her fingers itch to touch the side of his neck just to see what it feels like…  
  
“Ben!”  
  
The voice comes from far away and their heads turn in unison. It belongs to a man who stands across the parking lot. He tips a beer in their direction, points to Leslie, and gives a thumbs up.  
  
Her eyes narrow, “Who is that?”  
  
Ben sighs, “Jacks.”  
  
“Jack.”  
  
“No, Jacks.”  
  
“And he is…”  
  
Ben waves at the man and looks back to her, “Um, he’s my Ann Perkins.”  
  
“Oh,” Leslie’s gaze shifts back to the man, Jacks, who is watching them intently, “he’s still there.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ben seems hesitant, “listen I didn’t tell him about the whole fake part of us dating. The whole situation would delight him to no end and I’d never hear the end of it. It would go on for years.”  
  
“That’s fine,” she smiles, but it is a weak one.  
  
For some reason, now, faced with his friend waiting to be introduced and his hand still resting lightly on her hip like it belonged there, Leslie loses her breath. She doesn’t have second thoughts. Instead, the audacity of what they are about to do hits her. Or at least the audacity of what she is about to do. This is not just convincing people of a made up back story. This is going to involve friends and co-workers and touching and feelings.  
  
Feelings that she keeps beating back with a mental machete and it would be so much easier if she thought Ben had the same problem, but he seems as cool and collected as she’s ever seen him. So it’s only her with the feelings and they aren’t even real feelings. The flip flops and such aren’t because of the weight of Ben’s hand on her hip, because he’s hooked two fingers through the loop of her belt buckle, because his pointer finger has rubbed that bit of her back through the plaid. No, the flip flops aren’t because _Ben_  is doing any of those things. It is because a  _man_  is doing them. Because it has been so damn long since Dave and maybe Leslie isn’t the most self-aware in that department. She has needs and this whole fake dating thing is twisting them into something that isn’t there.  
  
 Neat, nice, and simple her ass.  
  
He seems to pick up her mood, “We don’t have to do this,” he lowers his head a little, catches her eye, “we can get back in the car and forget the whole thing. You don’t have to do this for me.”  
  
It was the last bit that got her.  _For me_. Ben might not think they were friends, but if Jacks, the man who salutes with a beer can, is the best Ben can do then he is in desperate need of more friends. And Leslie has never been one to walk away from her friends.  
  
“No,” she swallows, “lets do this.”  
  
He surveys her. Leslie smiles again, this time genuinely, and he returns it. His other hand snakes down and laces his fingers through hers. She lets him tug her toward Jacks. Half-way there he stops and lowers his head, “And to answer your question. No, I don’t use manners to get women. I just had a good mother.”  
  
***  
  
Jacks turns out to be not nearly as bad as Leslie expected. Sort of. She’ll get back to you.  
  
He meets them at the edge of the parking lot and doesn’t wait for Ben to make the introductions. He shakes Leslie’s hand and meets her eye. Asks her what she does for a living. Congratulates her for not letting Ben fire her and offers her a beer.  
  
“They aren’t mine to offer but I will anyway,” he smiles and hands one to Ben who opens the bottle and hands it to Leslie. It surprises her and she catches him smile with one corner of his mouth even though he never stops looking at Jacks who is still talking, “Is Traeger here?” Jacks looks around.  
  
“I don’t know,” Ben shrugs. He shifts so his shoulder brushes Leslie’s and tips his own beer back.  
  
“I thought you guys were good again.”  
  
“We’re fine. I mean it’s Chris,” Ben says.  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Leslie looks at both of them.  
  
Jacks covers with a smile, “I mean he’s Chris Traeger, bionic man. He lit-er-ally is the most over-the-top ass kisser you’ve ever met,” he points to Ben, “and this guy is the only one in the fleet who can stand him enough to go on the road with him six months a year.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Ben says.  
  
“Yes, it is,” Jacks leans in toward Leslie, “you’ve got yourself one of the most indulgent men in the state.”  
  
“Stop.” Ben looks annoyed, but there is a smile threatening to break. He covers it up by taking another swig of beer.  
  
“What does he mean by that?” And Leslie can’t decide which she is more giddy over: the fact that they refer to themselves as a fleet or that someone can mock Ben and make him smile.  
  
“He means I’m a pansy ass,” Ben says.  
  
“For doing all the work and only getting half the credit,” Jacks finishes, “he thinks that modesty is becoming but in this case its idiotic. You’re never going to get off the road if you’re on Traeger duty.”  
  
“Chris isn’t that bad,” Leslie says. She feels some compunction to defend him since Ann is dating him.  
  
Jacks shakes his head, “Just wait. It always takes a little while, but eventually he reveals himself.”  
  
“Better than having to deal with Penelope,” Ben finishes his beer and sets it down on the picnic table. He scans the crowd, “Where is she, by the way?” His arm finds the small of Leslie’s back and it is a good thing he and Jacks are looking around because she fumbles. Reminds herself the whole thing is fake.  
  
“Oh she’s somewhere. Does she know about her?” Jacks says.  
  
“Leslie. I have a name and it is Leslie.”  
  
It pops out of her mouth before she can help it. Jacks gapes and Ben snorts. Leslie just stands there.  
  
“My apologies madam,” Jacks bows a little, “it won’t happen again.”  
  
Ben tightens his arm around her. Leslie takes that to mean he approves and she exhales.  
  
“You’re forgiven,” she murmurers and Jacks winks.  
  
“Penelope?” Ben seems to be on a mission.  
  
“Over there,” Jacks points over to the industrial barbecues set up across the lawn. Leslie finds Penelope and is thankful she changed out of the dress and blazer. The other woman is the only one here in a dress and not a modest one either. It is tight and purple and tacky. Leslie is embarrassed for her, but that seems to be of little consequence to Penelope. She is statuesque and built, Leslie has to admit that, but it doesn’t look right. She is too muscular, too tan, too drawn, so that everything feels forced and artificial.  
  
Ben drops his arm and looks at Leslie, “I’m going to say hi.” His gaze tells her to stay here and because this is Ben’s thing she follows his lead.  
  
She and Jacks watch him cross the crowd of families, of kids, and teenagers playing the carnival games set up. There is a bouncy house and one of those games where you dress up in a inflated suit and pretend to be sumo wrestlers. Someone is playing Journey over the speakers and it all is happy and fun. It reminds Leslie of a scaled down version of her imagined Harvest Festival and she is lost in thought when Jacks finally says something.  
  
“You know leggy brunettes are usually his type,” he says, realizes, and then adds, “but not her. He’s never tapped that.”  
  
“Jacks,” Leslie stops him, has the momentary thought that that really is a stupid name, and meets his eye, “shut up.”  
  
***  
  
Whatever Ben has to say to Penelope, Leslie decides that if she really were his girlfriend she’d trust him, that she wouldn’t need to watch him, and turns to his best friend.  
  
“So how did you and Ben meet?”  
  
He tips back the last of his beer, eyes her, and says, “State auditor camp.”  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“No, seriously there is a two week training course you have to take and the year we started they held it at a camp outside South Bend.”  
  
She isn’t sure she should believe him or not and Jacks watches her with careful appropriation, wondering if she has a sense of humor, is naive and a bit stupid, or kind of awesome and worthy of his best friend. She doesn’t know what he decides, but they both laugh and Jacks nods toward a nearby picnic table. They sit side by side at it and both grip their beers, hers still half-full and his empty. She can tell he is gearing up to say something and gives him the silence he needs to say it.  
  
“Ben doesn’t date.” It comes out rushed and staggered at the same time. Like he doesn’t want to say it but knows he should.  
  
“Okay,” her voice is hesitant, unsteady.  
  
But Jacks presses on, “he goes out on dates, but he doesn’t date date. Doesn’t bring them to stuff or keep in touch. It’s a policy he has cause he’s on the road all the time. Doesn’t think it would be fair to the girl. I don’t get it because it has to be damn lonely, but he’s stuck to it for twelve years.”  
  
Leslie nods because its the only thing she knows how to do.  
  
“So you,” Jacks runs a hand through his hair and laughs, “you are significant.”  
  
She wants to correct him, to try and lower his expectations, but doesn’t know how without showing her cards. Instead, she remains very still.  
  
Jacks turns, bends his head, and catches her eye, “You get that, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” she utters, “um, I do.”  
  
“If I’m scaring you, good,” His voice drops. It’s not threatening, but it is damn clear, “He’s a better guy than the rest of us and he’d kill me for saying this but if you’re just playing around you should leave. If you’re trying to save your job or some pet project then go cause he’s been on that ride already. He’s been used and it never works. She always ends up broken hearted. He’s left a lot of great girls behind because he’s that way. He doesn’t impress easily.”  
  
Leslie waits a beat. Licks her lips, “Done?”  
  
Jacks mulls, “I think so,” waits a beat, “Do you hate me now?”  
  
She leans on both elbows and finds Ben across the crowd. He is talking to Penelope but his back is to them. She takes the time to breathe in and out a few times, to fist her hands and hide their tremble. This is all becoming way more intense than she anticipated. Ann would be doing a victory dance right now. She looks to Jacks and thinks of Ann and finds her voice again, “So I have my own version of a Jacks back in Pawnee and she would have had a similar speech to a guy so no I don’t hate you.”  
  
He laughs, “Is she hot?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Good for her.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie meets the rest of the “Fleet.” There are six of them and they are all, to various degrees, what one would expect from a state auditor. A couple are married and only one has a pocket protector, but two are definitely wearing socks with sandals and more than half probably eat too much fast food in their cars. Ben joins them, comes up from behind and lets her know he is there with a light hand on her back. She catches Jacks eyeing the move and something in his cheek twitches. For whatever reason she leans into Ben, who is surprised but wraps his whole arm around her waist, presses his palm into the plane of her stomach in a unmistakeable  _yeah, this is happening_. Jacks smiles wryly and Leslie tells herself that those tiny flutterings are just for the silent victory.  
  
Leslie doesn’t say much; lets the conversation among Ben’s peers and friends flow around her. But she does pay attention and picks up on two blatant facts. The first: in this world, Ben is cool. Alright, cool might not be the right word. Normal might be more accurate. He and Jacks are soon engaged in a lengthy side conversation about baseball and then pick up what sounds like an old debate about whether  _Point Break_  is the greatest Patrick Swayze movie ever. Ben argues that it is, but Jacks keeps bringing up  _Road House_  and Leslie can see why the two of them are friends. When they ask her for her opinion she shrugs and says she kind of loves _North and South_. Ben wrinkles his forehead and says he thought most girls would say  _Dirty Dancing_  or  _Ghost_  if she is a sucker. Leslie makes a face and says  _North and South_  is an epic tale about the opaqueness of morality;  _Dirty Dancing_  is about a girl with low self-esteem. She doesn’t add aloud that Orry Main is way hotter than Johnny Castle.  
  
There is plenty of talk about output-based-depreciation and variable interest entities and Ben indulges in it. Shares his opinion which always sounds right to Leslie who has no idea what they are saying. But he always steers the conversation back to something more general: the antics of Congress or where people were vacationing for the summer, always something she can participate in. And that leads Leslie to realize the second fact: Ben is thoughtful. And aware. Perceptibly so. Whenever her eyes are about to glaze over or she has to stifle a yawn, he changes the subject. Coughs or says something that breaks up the rhythm of his blind, nerd friends. Jacks does it too, on Ben’s lead, with a joke. Usually it is more than a little ribald and Leslie catches Ben grimace more than once. For her part, Leslie keeps up. She bites back the mini-lectures about lewd speech her mother ingrained in her and pastes on a smile. But when Jacks starts in about a woman he met in Terre-Haute last week, the way she stare-fucked him during a meeting, and then started naming the positions they tried back in his hotel room, Leslie had enough.  
  
She steps back and Ben’s hand drops. She says something about getting a drink and doesn’t look over her shoulder as she walks away. She does hear Ben say Jacks name and thinks she hears a swear word or two, but she is too far away by then to know what he said.  
  
She takes her time through the crowd. Lingers to watch a mother lean down and retrieve her daughter’s hotdog which has rolled into the grass. The little girl has blond hair pulled into pigtails and Leslie’s eyes trail the girl as she follows her mother back to the grills for another hotdog. Leslie is tempted to follow too. She wants to keep watching their interaction: the girl’s hand fists her mother’s jeans, the mother rumples her daughters hair as she asks the grill master for another hotdog, and then the two of them sit together on a grassy hill cross legged to eat their food, mirrors of each other. Something turns over in Leslie and she recognizes it as the flip flop again except this time it has nothing to do with Ben. This time it is deeper, more private, and something wholly foreign.  
  
“So you’re the indomitable Leslie Knope,” says a voice from behind her.  
  
Leslie turns and finds herself looking up at Penelope and a self-satisfied smirk.  
  
***  
  
“I am,” Leslie inhales, puffs out her chest.  
  
The other woman looks her up and down and strangely Leslie has never felt more objectified, “I thought you’d be taller,” Penelope says and then smiles, “I’m Ben’s boss. Penelope.”  
  
“Yeah, we met once. Chris introduced us when you were in Pawnee last week.”  
  
“Did he?” she simpers, “Must of slipped my mind.  
  
“Hmm,” Leslie says.  
  
She’s met women like Penelope before. As little girls, they hogged the monkey bars at recess and mocked girls in the locker room whose boobs hadn’t grown in. In high school, they were head cheerleaders and prom queens. They showed up at the dances and rallies Leslie organized, waved, but never stayed to clean up. In college, they were the girls the fraternity boys made out with while Leslie edited their papers. They were women who get off on putting other people down and people concede because they are bullies, But Leslie doesn’t like bullies and she's an adult now. She doesn't have to bow and defer to these women anymore.  
  
“So how did you get Ben to go out with you?” Penelope winds a finger around her hair, tips her head, and lets the hair loose like it were a spring. If Leslie didn’t know better she’d think Penelope was flirting with her and she makes that face where everyone knows she is horrified and uncomfortable. Penelope tick tocks her head back and forth, “Oh, touché subject?”  
  
Leslie swallows, “No, um actually he asked me out. I wasn’t interested but he was,” Leslie stumbles because Penelope has moved into her personal space and the woman’s boobs, pushed up and out from her dress like the end of a salami, stick right up in Leslie’s face. _What the hell?_  She pulls on her fingers and looks around for Ben but he’s still over with his friends, his back to her, “Um, he was persistent.”  
  
Penelope laughs, like crystal, says, “Ahh, I just don’t think that is true,” and sticks the tip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth.  
  
Later, Leslie will tell Ann that it was the tongue thing that pushed her over the edge. The weirdness and outright audacity of it that caused Leslie to forget herself really. To scan the crowd, see the sumo wrestling game, and challenge Penelope to it. Why Penelope agreed, Leslie couldn’t say except that she is kind of crazy. And when they were suiting her up Leslie really wasn’t thinking about Ben. She was thinking about all the girls like Penelope who turned into women like Penelope and pushed around nice guys like Ben. And it never occurred to her to check herself when she put the word nice before Ben’s name.  
  
***  
  
“Leslie, what the hell?”  
  
Ben appears next to the picnic table on which Leslie is laid out. She starts to sit up, but a nurse, who is not nearly as beautiful as Ann, pushes her back down. Ben kneels on the bench and just looks at her with wild eyes. Leslie imagines she looks like a crazy person. The nurse starts to wrap her right foot in an ace bandage. Ben reaches out, pushes a strand of hair off her forehead. His fingers graze right above a cut and she winces.  
  
He licks his lips, “What happened?” he says it quieter this time, just to her.  
  
Leslie chews on her bottom lip.  
  
“She tried to kick Penelope’s ass,” this is from Jacks who comes up behind Ben followed by the Fleet.  
  
The questions play across his face and Leslie looks away, doesn’t meet his eye. He stands and she thinks he is going to move away, upset that she risked everything to…do what even she’s not exactly sure. Instead, though, he sits on the edge of the table and his hip grazes hers. She can’t read the look he gives her when she finally does meet his gaze. There is concern and annoyance there, but something else she can't read.  
  
“Leslie, what happened?” he asks again.  
  
“I don’t know. She got pushy and I challenged her to this wrestling match and she started to tell me about how terrible Pawnee was, how it was infested with raccoons and fat people, and then she said JJ’s waffles were the worst she’d ever had and then I kind of just rammed her.”  
  
Ben licks his lips and smiles wryly. Behind him, Jacks gives her two thumbs up.  
  
He ducks his head, “You know what this did right?”  
  
Yeah, she knows. She just made their job ten times harder.  
  
But then he smiles and the flip flops are back. He grabs both her hands, helps her sit up, and leans back. Asks the nurse if her ankle will be okay.  
  
"It's sprained," she says, "You'll want to get some crutches and see your doctor in a few days. But for today you need to stay off it completely."  
  
When she is gone, he turns to Leslie, finds her hand and skims her knuckles with his thumb. And even though Jacks and the Fleet are there, it doesn't feel like anyone is watching them. It feels like it is just the two of them, that everything else is just background music.  
  
Leslie tells herself she is not heroine.  
  
That she is just trying to put on a fair.  
  
She says it aloud in her head, wills herself to stop, to not feel something that isn't doesn't exist, when his eyes tip back up to hers and he says, "There's not way you can drive back to Pawnee tonight. Let's get you home."  
  
Leslie knows what is supposed to happen to those flip flops in her stomach. She just doesn't know what to do with it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Leslie, stop."  
  
"Nope. Not until you say it."  
  
"I'm not mad."  
  
"Then I'm going to keep saying it…I am sorry," she folds her arms and glances at Ben's profile. He remains very calm and very still. That is how she knows he is upset. Ben's face, terrible as it is, never stays still. Either his eyebrows tip or his mouth quirks or his eyes focus in. She may not know what all of those little gestures mean yet, but she knows them, has observed them, and recognizes that their absence means he has retreated to some passive aggressive place. In other words, he is mad,  
  
She tries again, "I'm sorry, okay?"  
  
"Okay," he bobs his head, repositions his hands on the steering wheel, but doesn't take his eyes off the road.  
  
"No," Leslie shakes her head. She will not indulge him in this, "It wasn't okay. I could have ruined everything."  
  
"But you didn't," he says, "Penelope thought you were the jealous girlfriend."  
  
Leslie wrings her hands, "No, she didn't."  
   
After Penelope knocked Leslie down that hill and she'd stopped rolling because she ran into that tree, Penelope had played it cool to the people who gathered around them, laughed it off like it was some accident. But later, when the crowd dissipated and someone went to find Ben, Penelope came over to Leslie, who was admittedly pretty groggy. She handed the nurse Neosporin from the First-Aid kit so the cut on Leslie's face wouldn't scar as if that mimicked concern. And when the nurse moved away she bent down and whispered so only Leslie could hear her, "Points for dedication on the jealous girlfriend bit, but I still don't buy it."  
  
Leslie doesn't tell Ben this. She feels foolish for letting her own frustrations get the best of her. She is embarrassed that a woman like Penelope could so easily get a rise out of her. She needs to stop letting whatever-the-hell is going on with her nerves rule her and start remembering this is for Pawnee and for Ben. The image of the little girl sitting with her mother on that hill bubbles up to forefront of her mind and her insides tug. There is a wanting there, but Leslie can't name what it is. She stares out the car window, away from Ben. This started out simple and straightforward, but it doesn't feel simple anymore.  
  
***  
  
She apologizes fourteen more times before they pull into Ben's apartment complex but he won't admit he is mad. As he pulls into the space she realizes she never thought he would have an apartment in Indianapolis. She imagined him as a perpetual nomad, but then again she was surprised he had friends so obviously her take on Ben Wyatt is off.  
  
He puts the car into park and sighs, "I'll come around and help you out."  
  
Leslie deliberates and decides that if Ben is going to be a stubborn mule and not admit that he is mad at her then she can be one too. She unbuckles the seat belt, swings the car door open, and is up and out on her one good foot just as he rounds the car.  
  
"Leslie I said I was coming to help."  
  
"I don't need your help," she reaches for her bag, which sits on the floor of the car, and almost topples over. Ben tries to steady her but she bats him away with her other hand, "I've got it. I've got it," she hisses.  
  
Ben backs up and Leslie hops along, holding onto the car for support. She makes it to the bumper and leans on it to catch her breath. Ben stands a few feet away, between her and her car, hands shoved in his pockets, "You're going in the wrong direction. My apartment is thatta way."  
  
Leslie glares, "I'm driving home."  
  
"No you're not."  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"No. you. are. not."  
  
"Yes. I. Am.” Leslie grounds out.  
  
Ben starts to swear but bites off the word, "Leslie, what the hell is your problem?"  
  
"Admit you're mad at me and I'll stop."  
  
"Fine, I'm mad. Now can we go inside?"  
  
She straightens, "I don't believe you."  
  
"That's because I'm not mad," Ben sounds exasperated.  
  
"Yes you are," Leslie says, "you're doing that thing you do when you're uncomfortable."  
  
"What thing?"  
  
"You retreat! You act all calm and formal and it's weird, but I know it means you're mad. You need to say it. You need to tell me you're mad otherwise I'm going home."  
  
"Your right ankle is sprained. How are you going to drive?"  
  
Crap on a spatula. She hadn't gotten that far.  
  
He is silent. Leslie works her jaw. She hates this so much. She hates that he is right, that he hasn't yelled at her, or even been mean to her. It isn't fair that she be the only one with thoughts and feelings she doesn't want. She wishes so much right now that she could push the corners of his mouth down, banish that self-satisfied smirk.  
  
"Leslie," he says her name quietly, "come inside."  
  
She closes her eyes and makes a decision. Forces his hand.  
  
"I hope I don't crash my car into a sign," she hops away from the car, wobbles, but keeps on going, “Don’t feel guilty if I die. You tried to stop me. Have them bury me at sea.”  
  
His shoulders slump, "Leslie."  
  
“Say it."  
  
"Leslie, stop acting like a child."  
  
"I'm not the one who is passive aggressive."  
  
She takes a wide berth around him and when her back is to him...  
  
"LESLIE, I SAID STOP!"  
  
She whirls on him, well, half-jumps and half falls. He catches her elbow and she jerks it away. Their eyes meet and she has never seen them this brown before, a deep, dark shade that catches her off guard and renders her speechless. Ben opens his mouth, the words catch in his throat, and stops. He touches his hand to his forehead, quick, and then drops it. He gives in, "I'm mad."  
  
God, he sounds like she were putting him through Chinese Water Torture.  
  
"About what?"  
  
He shoves his hands in his pockets, "I don't get why you did it."  
  
Leslie believes him this time. She is surprised he isn’t upset because she made their job harder or that she made a fool of herself and, by proxy, him. Of all the things that he could be upset by it is that he doesn't understand. And that strikes Leslie as an incredibly generous thing to be upset over. It feels personal somehow, like he is bothered because he can't understand her and not because she ruined his life.  
  
She fidgets. Now that it is her turn for admission it feels incredibly uncomfortable, "I don't like bullies and I especially don't like it when they pick on my friends."  
  
When she looks at Ben he has that same quiet look he gave her when she pitched the Harvest Festival. He looks down, but his eyes tip up. He is assessing her, looking for what she doesn't know, but the gaze is penetrating and Leslie shifts under it.  
  
Finally his mouth quirks up, "So we're friends."  
  
"Of course we're friends!"  
  
"Well, you don't have to sound so angry about it."  
  
Leslie leans back against the rear of the nearest car and exhales, "Well, you are a very difficult friend to have,"  
  
Ben takes a few steps toward her, stops just outside that bubble of personal space, and scratches his neck, "Don't friends look after one another? Help each other out?"  
  
"What do you think I'm doing?" Leslie folds her arms.  
  
He takes that last step, into her personal space, and touches her elbow. It's not a caress, more like a steadying, a shared deep breath.  
  
"Then let me be your friend and come inside."  
  
***  
  
She’d been in Ben’s apartment earlier to change, but that had only been to the half bath a few steps inside the door and the lights had been turned off then.  
  
Ben ushers her in, helps her along with a firm hand on her waist. He lets her lean against a console in the entry way while he sets down her traveling garment bag and flips on the lights.  
  
“It’s not much. Just home,” he grips her arm and waits patiently as Leslie half-hops, half hobbles toward the couch.  
  
It isn’t big -a one bedroom with a galley kitchen and insignificant balcony off the main living space - but it is more than just home. The walls are painted a rich dark grey and rather than make it dark cozies the space. There is a fire place and art - real freaking art - on the walls. A sectional of caramel leather dominates the room and there are industrial bookshelves and throw pillows and some sort of modern light fixture that Tom would call dope over a table. It was sleek and modern and it didn’t feel like Ben. At least the Ben she imagined.  
  
“Ben,” Leslie pauses as she sinks down onto the couch and oh-my-god the leather is like butter.  
  
“Yeah?” He is in the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge.  
  
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought Jacks said you never date.”  
  
He frowns as he walks back into the living room, “I don’t. I mean I do, but I think you’re talking about relationships.”  
  
“Yeah, relationships. I thought you didn’t have them.”  
  
“Not really no. Why?”  
  
She looks around the room as if he’s supposed to get it, but all Ben does is hand her a water bottle. She takes it automatically.  
  
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but no single, straight man willingly hangs a mirror in his front hall or has baskets everywhere,” she has counted fourteen so far filled with throw blankets and dvds and round textured ball things like the ones Ann kept on her coffee table, “Either you had a girlfriend when you moved into this place or you want to tell me something.”  
  
He rubs his jaw and says ruefully, “I have a sister and a mother who, when I turned thirty, insisted I grow up whether I was married or not.”  
  
“So you didn’t pick any of this?”  
  
“I mean it’s still my stuff,” he nods toward the television suspended over the fireplace.  
  
Leslie scans the room a second time and sees all the things she missed: the John Le Carre paper backs and comic books ordered neatly on the bookshelves. In the far corner, a desk with a dictionary set and industrial sized calculator as its only companions. The surround equipment and video game controls peak out from the media console. She spies the model Millennium Falcon high up on one of the shelves and in a far corner a vintage poster from Batman he snuck past his mom and sister. Leslie smiles. That is more like the Ben she imagined: dorky, a little neat, techy but most of all simple. Not extravagant and certainly not stylish. Content with the things that make him happy.  
  
And then she notices the photographs. There are dozens of them:  on shelves, crowding the mantle, and cluttering up the sleek and modern. She can’t make out all of them, but the one nearest her is Ben with what looks like his family. Leslie picks it up.  
  
“Um,” Ben leans over, “that’s my mom and that’s Bartlett and Jamie, my brother and sister.”  
  
Leslie pauses.  _There is no way…_  She studies Ben’s mother. She is petite with long brown hair and a smart pair of reading glasses. She looks like a smart, informed woman so maybe...  
  
“Is your middle name Franklin?” She asks.  
  
He nods.  
  
“And let me guess your brother’s is Josiah.”  
  
“You know the signers of the Declaration of Independence?”  
  
“Phsh, I can sing them.”  
  
And simultaneously they launch into that song Leslie thought only she and her mother knew, the one of all the signers names, and they end almost at the same  with George Wythe and fall over on the couch to catch their breath. Leslie lets out the last laugh and she catches Ben watching her. She chews her lip and catches his eye. She’s not sure why, but she holds her breath and just as soon as the thought that something might happen occurs to her, her stomach betrays her and lets out a low rumble.  
  
“Sounds like you’re hungry,” Ben looks away and the spell is broken. Clears his throat and stands up, “Do you like tuna steaks?”  
  
“Um, yes,” she stumbles.  
  
He moves to the kitchen and starts pulling items out of the fridge, “I’ll make risotto and the tuna steaks go will further,” he isn’t looking at her. Talks quickly about what he will make: spinach salad and lemon risotto with sesame seed grilled tuna steak. He opens a bottle of wine and pours Leslie a glass, brings it to her, and forgets to give it to her when he gets distracted by the fact that they haven’t elevated her foot or called Ann.  
  
“She’ll kill me,” he says, putting the glass of wine down on the kitchen counter.  
  
“I’m fine…” Leslie stammers but she knows it is futile.  
  
Ben unearths a pillow and an ice pack. He thrusts his phone into her hands, comes back thirty seconds later with her own. He moves headlong as if he suddenly realized he hasn’t been the perfect host and is desperate to make up for the error. She wonders why he is suddenly so nervous. He keeps talking about the food and Leslie just wants him to start cooking it or at least stop talking about it because oh-my-god it all sounds so good and she is so hungry.  
  
She has a clipped conversation with Ann while he watches from the kitchen, drains his wine glass and her own. Ann doesn’t say much, just keeps repeating that this is a dumb idea. Finally Leslie hangs up because she’s got a sprained ankle that really does hurt so nothing could happen and Ben looks like he might have a nervous break down the way he keeps banging things in the kitchen and where did her wine go?  
  
***  
  
Ben cooks and they talk.  
  
He tells Leslie about how he became best friends with Jacks; it involved a lot of alcohol, a bear, and some sort of prank to steal underwear that Leslie doesn’t really understand. She asks about the state auditor job and being on the road all the time.  
  
“Don’t you wish you had a home?” She blurts it out before she realizes where she is sitting because even though this is much more than she thought he would have it doesn’t feel like home to her. Not her understanding of home at least.  
  
He gets it somehow, without her having to qualify it, and he stops what he is doing in the kitchen to lean on the counter that overlooks the room and says, “That’s why this Penelope thing is important. I’m ready to get off the road and you know…” he shrugs one shoulder, goes back to cutting whatever it is he’s chopping.  
  
 _…and find a nice girl, settle down, and get married._  Leslie finishes it for him, silently. She drains her wine glass, sets it next to the picture of his family, and stops. She looks from that picture to the ones on the mantle and then to the ones clustered on a bookshelf. There are some with Ben and his family, Ben and his friends, and even one of Ben and Chris, but Leslie doesn’t see a single one of Ben and anyone who might be his father. It is at the tip of her tongue to say something, to ask why, but she holds back because whatever they’ve settled into is still new and a little unknown. For once in her life, Leslie hesitates and doesn’t throttle ahead at full speed.  
  
She tries something simpler, “So you like to cook?”  
  
He does like to cook. It is obvious. The man has Le Creuset cookware and a freaking Kitchen-aid for goodness sake and when she teases him about it he blames his mother. She bought one for him and one for Jamie. Jamie, who he talks about with such obvious affection, is the baby of the family. Ben is the quintessential middle child: the peacemaker and self-sufficient one. Bartlett is married, Ben tells her, and has made their mother’s life complete by giving her a full compliment of grandchildren.  
  
“All boys. She and Jamie would kill for a girl,” he says as he stirs the risotto.  
  
“Is Jamie named after James Madison?” Leslie takes a shot in the dark and turns out to be right.  
  
They talk about the crazy things their parents would do to raise civically minded children. The books and summer camps, the canvasing and council meetings they attended. Leslie tells him about growing up with Marlene, leaves out the cold and removed bits, and sticks with the ridiculous parts: about adults trembling a little when they heard her last name and the PTA meetings that Leslie practically lived at. Ben refills her wine glass and asks her about how she got started at the Parks department. She tells him how it was her mom at first, but she really believes she’s earned the job. She recounts the first fight she and Ron ever had; it happened during her interview and it had been about the right of the government to interfere in the raising of children.  
  
“It really was the dumbest fight because we both know next to nothing about kids,” Leslie says. The swelling in her ankle has stymied at least and she exchanges Ben the ice pack for the plate of food he has dished up for her. It smells so good and Ben lingers, waits while she takes the first bite.  
  
“This is amazing,” she says through a full mouth and he smiles.  
  
“I’m glad,” he says, “usually it’s just me and sometimes Jacks but he would almost always rather order pizza.”  
  
He goes back to the kitchen to dish up his own and they fall into a companionable silence. Leslie eats, savors the mix of salt and lemon, of crisp and smooth. Of course it is nothing compared to JJ’s, but it feels grown-up, special. She appreciates the time it took to prepare and it strikes her that it is one of the most caring things anyone has done for her in a long time. She is so engrossed, so hungry, that she doesn’t notice that Ben stands at the end of the couch, his plate in one hand and a beer in the other, watching her.  
  
And for the second time that evening Leslie thinks she might be in trouble. They lock eyes, neither says a word, and for a moment the world falls by the wayside. She notices his adams apple go up and down and Leslie feels it: those flip flops, but this time it is more than just low in her belly. It is her entire body. She is aware of every sensation against her skin: the leather of the couch on her ankle, the rim of the plate against her hand, and her hair brushing her neck. Everything is amped up and Leslie trembles at the charge. One of them has to do something. A dam has to break or a window shatter. Something to drag her away from depths she is not ready for.  
  
In the end it is something much smaller.  
  
His cell phone rings and they both jump, grin sheepishly. Ben silences the ringer. It is his sister and he’ll call her back. He drops down onto the couch, the far side, but he doesn’t stay seated for long. He is up and suggesting they watch a movie. Picks out Independence Day because of the speech. Leslie sits back, curls up around a throw pillow, and pretends to watch the movie.  
  
She can’t see Ben, but she is aware of him. He eats slowly and drinks his beer too fast. He laughs when Will Smith punches that alien and murmurs how two-dimensional the aliens are drawn, which Leslie kind of expects coming from him. But she isn’t sure he’s watching the movie either.  
  
Her thoughts circle and come back around to the painfully obvious fact: Ben Wyatt is not who she thought he was. He is straight laced and a nerd. He is neat as a pin and very exact. That part she was right about. But he also is painfully normal: well adjusted and self-deprecating. He can laugh at himself. When he talked with his friends about all those numbers, Leslie heard in his voice the gratification he derived from the work. Still, he doesn’t want to do it forever. She wonders what he does want. She doesn’t fail to notice that when he talked about what was next he never actually named it. She spins out the possibility that he might be interested in running for office someday, that maybe there is some part of that boy mayor she read about still in him.  
  
She also knows he is kind: the way he tried to include her, his concern when she was hurt, and the dinner he made her. None of it is revolutionary. None if it is anything less than what Leslie would expect from a boyfriend or even a friend really, but for some reason it stands out when he does it. Maybe it is because Leslie has seen the not-so-kind side of him, the side that is dismissive and curt and sarcastic. She’s witnessed it in EBTF meetings and she still isn’t sure how to reconcile those two aspects of his personality. But she does know he means well. His intentions are pure and though she doesn’t always believe his cause is just, doesn’t fully agree that a balanced budget is the most important work of government, she knows he believes it to be. And that he works hard to do a good job because he holds his responsibilities in high regard.  
  
And while all of these things stretch Leslie’s perception of Ben, deepen it, and complicate it, she isn’t convinced. She still isn’t sure. He could be so self-righteous and passive aggressive... And that didn't even matter because Ben has made it very clear he finds her to be impossible sometimes, maddeningly so.  
  
Leslie always imagined herself with someone like her in enthusiasm and verve. And just because he can sing that stupid song about the signers of the Declaration of Independence Leslie isn’t sure that is enough. She wants a real partner. She doesn’t want to have to defend or explain or convince the guy. She doesn’t want to fight or get on each other’s nerves. Her parents did that and she isn’t interested. She’d rather be alone.  
  
But what scares Leslie most of all is what she doesn’t know about him. Ben is not an open book. He holds his cards close and his reactions even closer. And maybe that is what scares Leslie most of all. She has these feelings. She can’t really deny they exist anymore. Sitting on this couch four feet away from him with a bum ankle might be one of the most erotic things Leslie has ever done. Her body is still hums from that look. She rubs her thumb against the leather and has to swallow just from the sensation. She feels alive and she isn’t sure why exactly. He touched her more earlier today than this evening. Really hadn’t done more than brush her fingers when he handed her the plate. But tonight she is even more painfully aware of him.  
  
That is why, when the movie is done and Ben holds out two hands to help her up Leslie hesitates. His hand finds that spot on her back that it is familiar with and the other loops her arm around his neck. He helps her into his bedroom and leaves to fetch her bag. Leslie looks around the room. There are more bookshelves and pictures. The furniture is oak, less shiny, and the coverlet is a simple navy. She imagines Ben did this room himself. She bounces on the mattress and smiles. It is a nice mattress. If anything she’ll sleep well tonight.  
  
Ben comes back with her bag, a glass of water, and aspirin. He puts them down on the nightstand, turns, and presses his arms against his side.  
  
“Um, do you need any help?” The question is painfully awkward and Leslie wants to laugh but she doesn’t because he is so obviously trying.  
  
“No,” she says, “I’m fine. Thank you for this evening and letting me -.”  
  
“Don’t mention it.” He interrupts her, like he can’t help but get the words out.  
  
There isn’t a moment like there was earlier. Ben nods and backs out of the room, closes the door behind him with a sift  _click_.  
  
Leslie gives up on pajamas and settles for shucking her jeans. She undoes the first button on the plaid, recalls who it belongs to, and stops. She takes the pain fillers and gurgles some mouth wash she finds on his bathroom counter. Resists the urge to go through his drawers. The bed is more comfortable than she could have imagined and Leslie blesses his sister and mother for the high thread count sheets she knows they bought him.  
  
And she lays there in his bed, in his shirt, with him just a few feet away, and starts to consider what it might mean to fall for Benjamin Franklin Wyatt.


	6. Chapter 6

The Tylenol PM does a doozy on Leslie and she sleeps in until 6:00 a.m. When she wakes up it takes a second to remember where she is. She stretches and whimpers when the pain in her ankle registers. It is swollen and stiff. She considers trying to go back to sleep; she doubts Ben is awake yet, but then her stomach protests and she realizes it is used to breakfast by now. She can probably sneak past Ben, find something in the pantry, and hop back to her room without him noticing. He’d brought her work bag in and she can grab that too. Accomplish a few hours of work before he wakes up.  
  
She swings her legs and hovers on the edge of the bed. The problem is that she isn’t wearing pants. She mulls the situation for a second and considers trying to pull her jeans back over her enormous ankle. She cringes at the thought and glances around the room. Sticking out  underneath the closed doors of his closet is a pair of gym shorts. Leslie hops over there and opens the bi-fold doors.  
  
“Oh god,” she mutters. It is a sea of plaid: red, blue, orange, green, and brown. There is even a purple and black one with neon green stripe. She fingers through the hangers and finds a few white button downs, a couple cardigans, and a very deep v-neck t-shirt from some Italian designer. She would have bet a year’s salary that Jamie bought that for him.  
  
She picks up the gym shorts, shimmies them up her hips, and double ties the string so they don’t fall off. Her stomach gurgles and she presses a hand to it.  
  
The door to his bedroom doesn’t squeak and Leslie exhales as she peaks out. Ben is asleep on the couch under a patchwork quilt. In the middle of the night, a hand curved up over his head and a bare foot snuck out from the bottom of the blanket. His mouth is open slightly and Leslie can hear him breathe. She hops as silently as she can on the wood floor, holds onto the back of the couch for support, and pauses when she nears him.  
  
Goddamn, look at his hair. It is messed and tousled and looks as soft as duck down. Her fingers itch to just reach out and touch it.  
  
She tears her eyes away before she does something stupid and settles on his arm thrown above his head. She hadn’t seen him in short sleeves before and she blinks. He has some muscle. Not a lot, but enough that Leslie bites her lip. She lingers for a moment, forgets where she is and indulges in a fantasy of those arms around her. But then Ben lets out a snore and rolls and Leslie remembers that she does not want to be caught staring at him while wearing his pants.  
  
She helps herself to two granola bars. Eats them and leans on the counter. Watches Ben from the kitchen and picks up her thought from last night.  
  
If she did decide to like him it would just be a crush, a minor one like the Little Dipper. She could spread her love life out like stars in the night sky and he would be nothing but a distant cluster, barely visible. Someday when she would read her memoirs to her children she'd tell this story about a guy she pretended to date once…  
  
She stares at Ben and her stomach does that flip flop thing again. She can't understand why she has such a strong, visceral response to him. It occurs to her that it has been a while since Justin and even longer since Dave. That had to be the reason. It would be good for her to, you know, not fall out of practice. She could practice on Ben.  Gratify those flip-flops with a few day dreams and gain her equilibrium back. So in a very rational and official capacity Leslie Knope decides she likes one Benjamin Wyatt and his terrible face.  
  
On her way back to the bedroom she rounds the couch to pull the blanket over his foot. It is the least she can do since he gave up his bed for her. And maybe she indulges in one more long look before she bends down and tugs on the blanket. She is just tucking the blanket under his heel when Ben wakes up. His gasp scares Leslie. She startles, loses her balance, and falls forward onto the couch and him. Her face ends up in his chest and he lets out an  _umphff_   as his hands come up to steady her.  
  
They lock eyes and Ben’s sleepy expression focuses quickly, “Leslie?”  
  
“I was just trying to tuck your foot in. It looked cold,” she stammers.  
  
He swallows and rubs an eye with his palm. The other hand doesn’t move from her side. She exhales and realizes he does as well simultaneously.  
  
“Hi,” he says.  
  
She smiles back, “Hi.”  
  
The front of their bodies are matched up and Leslie is only too aware that his hips slot perfectly with hers.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” he flexes the hand on her hip, tightens his grip.  
  
“Your sheets are amazing. Mom and sister?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Well tell them I said thank you. I’ll be buying a set for myself when I can drive.”  
  
He smiles and Leslie feels those flip flops again, mentally tells them  _See? Didn’t leave you hanging for long_. Ben yawns and sighs, “How’s your ankle?”  
  
At this point the thought enters Leslie mind that this has gotten sufficiently weird. Ben hasn’t moved a muscle to indicate he wants her off of him. His hand keeps its steadfast grip on her so she doesn’t slide onto the floor and he looks down right relaxed with his other arm tucked under his head.  
  
“It, um, feels better,” she tries to rotate it but the muscles cramp and shit that hurts. She winces and moves her legs to try to make it feel better. Ben moves his too, instinctively, and that shifts things so their pelvics are right on top of each other and oh….  
  
Leslie has to remember that it doesn’t mean anything. He is a man and it is morning. Don’t they all wake up with one of those?  
  
Ben’s eyes bulge and he sits up, bringing her with him. There are elbows and weird angles, but they manage to separate and take to respective corners of the couch. Ben drops his face into his hands and groans. Leslie hangs her head. She isn’t sure why but she wishes this hadn’t happened, that she hadn’t even approached the border of good and awkward between them. She doesn’t want to lose good.  
  
He looks up, but Leslie doesn’t. She picks at the pillow she’s hugged to her stomach.  
  
“Are you wearing my pants?”  
  
“I couldn’t get my jeans over my ankle,” she fixates on the pillow. Her ankle is more swollen today than it was last night. Ann is going to lecture her till her ears bleed. She wants him to say her name or throw one of those damn pillows at her head. Anything to answer the silence between them. But he doesn’t. He sighs and stands up.  
  
“I’m going to go take a shower and then I’ll make breakfast. After that we can head back to Pawnee.”  
  
***  
  
They don’t talk about it. When Ben is in the shower Leslie changes in the half bath. Digs out a dress and thanks God that she shaved her legs yesterday. When it comes to his plaid she waffles. She could just toss it in his hamper, but for some reason she takes it with her under the pretense that laundering it herself is the polite thing to do. He is surprised when he gets out and she is packed and ready to go. He offers to make breakfast more than once, but Leslie just wants to get on the road. She’s already called Andy and April and offered them a hundred bucks to drive to Indianapolis and bring her car back to Pawnee. Ben picks up her bags and offers his elbow for support out to his car, but Leslie smiles and insists her ankle really is feeling much better even if its not true.  
  
They stop for doughnuts and coffee at a bakery and are on the road by 7:30 a.m. Ben turns on NPR and Leslie tilts her seat back. They ride without comment for almost an hour. It isn’t an uncomfortable silence; Leslie smiles when they both roll their eyes during a story. But it isn’t the same. Ben keeps casting his eyes sideways as if hopeful she will look at him, but she refuses. She keeps her gaze on the farmland and highway signs. She chews on her bottom lip and wonders how to appropriately and professionally handle a crush on a man who is your pretend boyfriend, but also your friend.  
  
Ben clears his throat. He turns down a commercial for the Diane Rehm show and repositions his hands on the steering wheel. Leslie looks at him. Waits.  
  
“So I think we need to talk this -,” he finally says.  
  
Leslie tilts the seat back up, “Ok.”  
  
She’s not sure what she wants him to say and presses a hand to her stomach to tell her flip flops to tone it down. Reminds them that this crush is just a warm-up, a practice run, for something else, someone else.  
  
"Um," He frowns, "So the Harvest Festival. That was the agreement, right?”   
  
Leslie can see it in his eyes. This is his olive branch, his attempt to regain the easy back and forth they’d earned last night, and Leslie’s grin splits. He smiles in return.  
  
Ben has Leslie dig out a folder from his briefcase. In it are spreadsheets and reports and before her eyes start to cross he stops her and offers to explain. He lays out the money: how many businesses would need to sign on, what kind of tax incentives they could offer, and the bottom line. He explains to her how much income the festival would need to generate to save her department and from the bottom of the stack digs out a chart showing necessary attendance projections to get to that bottom line.  
  
When he is finished, Leslie sits silent for a while, mulling. Ben watches her sideways and finally clears his throat.  
  
“Leslie?”  
  
“It’s going to need to be bigger than I thought,” she flips through a few of the top papers absently.  
  
“Do you still want to do it?”  
  
“Of course,” she says quickly, “I’m just really glad you’re here to help.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie and Ben are friends, but they aren’t that close of friends. EBTF meetings are on hold while Ben and Chris consider the first round of proposed cuts. With the government shut down, Leslie suddenly has days of time to fill and little to no reason to be at City Hall. She and Ben do work together, but it is over email. They volley back and forth ideas and reports. On Ben’s side the emails usually come in a flurry around lunch time and later in the evening when he is done with work. Leslie smiles when they do because it means he is spending his lunch hour and evenings helping her. It makes the flip flops in her stomach turn over.  
  
If Leslie were a different type of woman she’d find invent reasons to drop by City Hall, to send flirty text messages, and to pick up the phone with a weak excuse to talk rather than send an email, but Leslie isn’t that type of woman. Her world encompasses too many other things for her to chase after Ben. She makes a canoe with Ron and visits Tom at Lady Foot Locker. She works on her Master Plan, goes shopping with Ann, and rereads all her favorite political biographies. She starts to clean out her house, determined to get the clutter under control, but gives up and decides to pick up her tuba playing  instead.  
  
She reminds herself daily that Ben is a practice crush. He  is easy on the eyes and they have a lot in common. But that does not make a relationship. She still exasperates him and he is sometimes so oddly formal that she wants to scream. She thinks he is blasé about the proposed cuts and he thinks she is willfully naive. They fight and sometimes Leslie isn’t sure she wants to make out with him or hit him.  
  
Leslie decides the most professional way to have a crush is to not let it become more than what it is. She promises herself that this tiny detour will remain a small, unimportant portion of her day, as insignificant as going to the grocery store or listening to Jerry. She will not invest any emotional energy into it, hype it up, or allow her heart to run away from itself. Leslie has done that in the past, but she isn't going to be fooled now. She looks at the course her love life has taken and realizes that since letting go of Mark she has been on a steady course uphill. Dave and Justin hadn't worked out, but they had been real relationships. Real relationships with men who weren't terrible people. She hadn't had a bad first date in months (granted that was because she hadn't had a first date in months...) and Leslie is proud of that. Damn proud. Maybe in her mid-thirties she is hitting her romantic stride.  
  
Which is why she is so careful with Ben. He isn't a long term option. He doesn't live in Pawnee or play the organ. His views of government are more akin to Ron's than her own and he needs to laugh more. And the largest reason of all: because he doesn't feel the same way. Leslie has made that mistake before, of falling alone, and she isn't about to do it again. She will not pine for a man who does not do the same for her.  
  
But still, those damn flip flops.   
  
She tries to remain professional but Ben starts emailing her every time Chris goes on about Ann.  
  
 _He bought her her own regimen of vitamins….this must be serious.  
  
Can you please have Ann call Chris? Please? He’s threatening a hunger strike until she does.  
  
I know she’s your best friend, but the Ann-love in here today  would be a bit much even for you. Before you argue with me imagine Chris telling you about how flexible Jacks is and how great his endurance is. If you didn’t just throw up a little then you have no empathy.  
  
Lit-er-ally, can not handle this today.  
  
You are a woman…is there a difference between a dozen roses or thirteen roses other than the obvious? Please tell me no so I can assure Chris that a dozen roses will be fine and go back to work. Respond quickly…the future of Pawnee’s budget is in your hands._  
  
One day he forwards her an article in the New Yorker about the history of the ladder and they spend a Thursday night chatting online while watching NBC’s comedy line up. Leslie tells herself that all of this is safely in the realm of friendship and it is. To prove it, she shares her most embarrassing stories.  
  
She doesn’t call him when she goes to the park near her house and sees it empty, the closed sign stretched across its entrance, and is sad.  
  
She doesn’t complain about the breakfast she has with her mother; the one where Marlene questions if Leslie might need to start thinking about pastures beyond Parks and Recreation.  
  
When she wakes up early one morning with an idea about the Harvest Festival she doesn’t call him. She waits until appropriate work hours and settles for an email.  
  
She refuses to read between the lines, look for signs he might like her, or rehash any of this with Ann ( _who thinks both of them are idiots_ ). Instead, she takes all of it at face value and tells herself it is nothing more than a one sided crush.  
  
Of course Leslie isn’t perfect. She trips up sometimes. She allows herself one full fledged day dream a day, usually saved for the last moments right before sleep. And there is one time, when Ben asks her for a restaurant recommendation, that she imagines he is trying to ask her out to dinner.  
  
But it is the pretend relationship that makes it hard to not let herself fall harder.  
  
With the government out, Leslie finds herself with an unexpected private life. She sees her friends, but they don’t get together often. She doesn’t bother mentioning to them that she is “dating” Ben; she figures the less people who know the less lies she has to tell.  
  
But Chris does what Chris does. He asks Ben about his relationship with Leslie. A lot. Ann, bless her heart, keeps her mouth shut, but Leslie thinks that might be because Ann isn’t as into Chris as he is into her and not because Ann approves of anything Leslie is doing. Ben does his best, but the poor man is not good at making stuff up.  
  
“Okay, I have a list,” Ben says one night over the phone. Leslie sits on her bed and in the background she can hear that Ben is watching baseball. Outside the wind howls and thunder claps in the sky. Leslie remembers her father used to tell her that storms are nothing more than God bowling and hunches her shoulders.  
  
“A list?”  
  
Ben sighs. She imagines he runs a hand through his hair, “You have no idea. When Chris is intent on something he is intense. He likes to ask me about you because it lets him talk about his favorite subject.”  
  
“Ann?”  
  
“No, himself.”  
  
Leslie falls back onto the bed and wiggles to loosen the covers from under her and slip beneath them. She is wearing Ben’s plaid because she needs to do laundry and it is soft  _dammit_. She squirms and finally gets the blankets out from under her  
  
“Are you exercising?” Ben asks.  
  
Leslie grunts as her foot, still tender and wrapped in an ace bandage, slides under the blankets, “No, I’m getting under the covers.”  
  
“Oh,” his voice is a little strangled, “you’re in bed.”  
  
“Yeah,” she frowns, “it’s almost midnight.”  
  
“I guess that makes sense,” he says. There is a pause and Leslie smiles, presses down on her stomach as it flips. There is another clap of thunder and Leslie clutches the blanket higher to her throat.  
  
"Is it storming over by you?" She rescues him.  
  
"Um, yeah but it sounds louder by you," he says, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean I think a few trees lots their branches in my neighbor's yard, but that is it."  
  
"Do you have a storm kit?"  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A storm kit, you know, in case the electricity goes out or a window breaks."  
  
Leslie frowns, "Um, no. Do you?"  
  
"Yeah um," Ben draws it out ruefully, "I'm kind of a safety freak. I have a kit in my apartment and my car and I keep a travel sized one with me in my hotel room."  
  
"What do you put in your travel one?"  
  
"Basic stuff: nylon rope, fire starter, folding saw," he stops because Leslie is laughing at him, "Don't judge. If Pawnee floods you're going to be begging me to come rescue you with my raft."  
  
"You do not have an inflatable raft in your hotel room!"  
  
 "No, it's in my trunk."  
  
Leslie giggles and realizes she's been twirling a curl between two fingers. She stops abruptly.  _This isn't an episode of_ Girl Talk _. Get it together Knope._  
  
“So, you have questions for me…” she gets down to business.  
  
“Oh," Ben is caught off guard. Leslie hears the rustling of papers like he is searching for a list, "Yeah. So I need to know your favorite flower.”  
  
“Wildflowers.”  
  
“Okay, um when did we um kiss for the first time?”  
  
“Probably on our second date.”  
  
“Which was…”  
  
Leslie frowns, “Ben, why do we need to know all this stuff?”  
  
“Because I want to make sure our stories are straight.”  
  
“Okay…,” Leslie licks her lips, “so I probably would have kissed you on our second date which would have been to see a documentary and then ended with ice cream in the park.”  
  
“Why not the first date?” Ben asks it quietly as if it is an aside.  
  
Leslie chews on her lip, “Because I wouldn’t be sure how you felt about me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
She shrugs even if he can’t see her, “I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t be sure if you were interested or not. And if I kissed you right away I wouldn’t know so I would wait and see if you asked me out again.”  
  
“But if I asked you out in the first place, wouldn’t that mean I was interested?”  
  
Leslie closes her eyes. This is straying beyond the realm of friendship, but she says it anyway, “My experience is that those don't go hand in hand.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
She sits up, “I mean its not like they were terrible. It’s just I’ve gone on a lot of bad first dates and a lot of the guys have kind of been jerks when they figure out they don’t like me. Minor stuff. I've been left at the restaurant a few times and one guy he slept with me and then left before I woke up. There was this one guy and he was different and we dated for a couple of months, but then he moved and I couldn’t leave Pawnee. But other than him, most of them haven’t been, you know...steller.”  
  
“Assholes. Leslie, those guys were assholes.”  
  
She smiles, “Yeah, something like that.”  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t be an asshole,” Ben says it like it is a vow or oath. There is the slightest pause and in it Leslie lets herself exhale. It comes out as a sigh and she hopes he didn't hear it. Ben says, “I would kiss you in the park. You’d have ice cream on your chin and I’d wipe it away and then steal a kiss. Just a quick one cause I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea even though I’d want more.”  
  
“I’d want more too,” she lays back down on the bed, rubs the cuff of his plaid between her fingers.  
  
“Well, I'm not a martyr," he laughs, "We’d definitely make out in the park then, in the grass on my jacket, and I'd never be able to get those stains out."  
  
"I'd have a blanket in my trunk. I always have a blanket."  
  
"But this is our second date," he corrects her gently, "I'd pick you up this time." Leslie bites her lip because she kind of wants to get back to the pretend make out, wants to see if he'll say anything else that confirms her daydreams. And after a moment he does, "I'd keep you out there until the stars come out," he says, "and we'd see who could name the most constellations."  
  
"I took all three levels of astronomy at the rec center," Leslie says, "I'd win."  
  
"That's okay because the winner would get more making out and so..."  
  
"Yeah," Leslie says because she doesn't need him to finish it. She closes her eyes for just the briefest second, lets herself think maybe there is something between them, but then she opens them and forces herself to think of Mark and all the time she spent misreading signals, "Um what's your next question?"  
  
When it takes Ben a little while to recover, to find his voice, and move on Leslie clamps down on her heart  
  
***  
  
“So I have the latest episode of  _This American Life_  or last year’s issue of the Pawnee Journal’s Sexiest Men for us to discuss,” Leslie says as she slides into Ann’s car. Ann has the day off and they are headed to Indianapolis for some much needed shopping. Leslie waves the magazine, “I mean none of them are really my type, but I wouldn’t be a good feminist if I didn’t objectify and rank men based on their appearance once in a while, right?”  
  
“No,” Ann shakes her head, “that is not right. Not at all.”  
  
“Yeah, probably not. Besides who wants to look at half-naked firemen anyway? Like that’s sexy,” Leslie sighs and drops the magazine into her giant bag.  
  
“Before we get on the road,” Ann slows the car as the light turns red, “I wanted to drop by City Hall. Chris says he has a surprise for me.”  
  
“Ohhhhh, how romantic of Chris!” Leslie waggles her eyebrows, “I wonder what it is.”  
  
Ann slips her sunglasses down her nose and looks at Leslie incredulously, “You have to know or you wouldn’t have said it like that.”  
  
It is another dozen roses. Ben sent her an email this morning.  
  
Leslie stays quiet though because anytime she mentions Ben Ann gives her that look - the look that says  _This is a bad idea_  - and Leslie squirms under that look. It is the same one her mother gives her whenever Leslie gets too excited.  
  
“Leslie,” Ann tucks her chin.  
  
“I get it, okay?”  
  
“Don’t get defensive on me. I’m just trying to help.”  
  
“Well, I don’t need help,” Leslie blusters, “I mean I don’t offer my two cents on you and Chris. I am nothing but supportive and excited for you.”  
  
“You talk about us behind my back to Ben, make jokes.”  
  
Leslie feels her cheeks burn, “How’d you know about that?”  
  
Ann tips her head,  “It’s not hard to figure out that Ben emails you every time Chris is being…you know…Chris,” she sighs and focuses straight ahead, “and I get that he’s weird and I’m not saying I’m in love with him, but he’s a nice guy. It isn’t like you to make fun of someone just because they are weird. If that’s what Ben does to you, I don’t like it.”  
  
Leslie fists her hands tight in her lap and says quietly “I didn’t realize you didn’t like Ben.”  
  
“I don’t know Ben,” Ann says, “but neither do you Leslie. I mean this is the guy who could fire all your friends and I know he’s been really helpful with the Harvest Festival, but that’s only because you guys made a deal. This isn’t something he’s doing out of the goodness of his heart. It’s a business proposition.”  
  
Leslie feels the sucker punch to her gut. She looks down and chews on her lip. Ann is right, but it doesn’t feel right.  
  
Ann continues, “I just worry about you getting hurt.”  
  
“I know,” Leslie nods, “I am being careful,” she finally looks up at her best friend, “He’s really not as terrible as I thought at first. He’s kind and thoughtful and I don’t think he means to mock Chris. I think it frustrates him sometimes because he works so hard and Chris gets a lot of the credit because he’s better with people.”  
  
Ann sighs, “Yeah, I know.”  
  
***  
  
They don’t say anything the rest of the way to City Hall. Leslie looks out the window and wonders if Ann might be right - that at the end of this Ben is going to leave Pawnee and if she’s not careful she’ll have saved her department but broken her heart at the same time.  
  
But Ben isn’t like that.  
  
He forwards her articles he thinks she might like. He tried out the snow globe museum because she recommended it. He is honest with her; when her idea is far fetched he isn’t afraid to tell her, but that means the compliments are real and earned. When he laughs Leslie feels the sweetness of victory because he doesn’t laugh easily. She makes him laugh and that curls something inside of her, something warm and palatable. He called her yesterday morning, after the storm, just to make sure she was alright and they had awhile, eventually ending up on his mom and how she taught him to cook.  
  
It is the way Ben talks about his family that makes Leslie think Ann is wrong to be worried.  
  
His parents divorced like her own and Ben had been raised by a strong willed mother, one who demanded nightly dinners together and stressed that family is the one you can always count on.  
  
“She loves Partridge,” Ben said over the phone, “thinks it is the best place in the whole world.”  
  
“Well then she hasn’t been to Pawnee,” Leslie smiled, “cause if she did she’d know Pawnee is the best town in America, possibly the world.”  
  
“I’ll let you two fight that one out,” he said. It was a slip up, Leslie was sure, nothing more than a temporary lapse that what they had was a farce.  
  
She recovered and asked a question that launched Ben into a description of about growing up with a history professor as a mother; she found it isn’t that different than growing up with Marlene. Sometimes Leslie finds herself dwelling on how much they have in common, that to some degree they are incredibly well suited, but then she remembers the differences: Ben has siblings. He has a family, a whole group of people to do the holidays with, to identify with, and to go home to. Leslie had that but it was ad hoc, a stitched together group of Ann, her co-workers, and by proxy all of Pawnee. She didn’t think less of her own situation, but she had been wrong to see Ben as a loner.  
  
“Jamie’s incredibly well adjusted,” Ben had said, “given I got impeached her freshman year.”  
  
It was the only time he volunteered any information about Ice Town and as tempted as she was Leslie didn’t push for more.  
  
“So you are closer with your sister?”  
  
“For Bartlett is,” he picks his words carefully, “very focused on Bartlett. He wanted out of Partridge and he got out as fast as he could. He has the big corporate career and the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids. He’s even got the damn golden retriever. Jamie, on the other hand, after she graduated from law school gave up the big job at the law firm in Chicago to go work with legal aid. She’s a big believer like that, that one person really can change the world if they work hard enough. She got that from our mom,” he sighs, “and I keep hoping that if I stick around them enough some of that will rub off on me.”  
  
The question why had been at the tip of her tongue but the timer on her waffle iron had beeped and Ben apologized for keeping her from her breakfast and hung up before she could.  
  
Now, in the car, Leslie thinks about his frank affection for his family, his loyalty to a brother he doesn’t always agree with, and his open admiration of his mother and sister. No, Ann was wrong to think Ben was callous or without feeling. Ben cares deeply and widely for those closest to him.  
  
The only thing is that Leslie doesn’t think she is one of those people.  
  
***  
  
When they get to City Hall, Leslie hangs back.  
  
She hasn’t seen Ben in four weeks. It feels strange. They converse every day. He is staying in a sad, depressing hotel across town. He goes back to Indianapolis most weekends to hang out with Jacks, sleep in his own bed, and cook in his own kitchen, but if he was any other person Leslie would invite him over during the week. She would make breakfast for dinner and they would sit on her porch to watch the fireflies. But Leslie hasn’t done that. She is trying to keep her distance because even just with emails and a few phone conversations she is already in danger of falling hard.  
  
“Hello, hello Ann Perkins! Leslie Knope!” Chris Traeger rounds the corner, points two fingers at them like he is slinging guns.  
  
“Hey!” Ann says. She kisses him and Chris wraps an arm around her waist.  
  
“Leslie, it is so good to see you here. Ben is going to be so surprised. He said you don’t like to come to City Hall and see it all shut down, that it makes you sad.”  
  
“Oh…it does,” she nods, “yeah, really depressed. That’s why we always meet at JJ’s for lunch.”  
  
Ann frowns because she knows that’s not true, but Leslie ignores it, forces herself to exhale, and thanks Ben for his ridiculous list of questions.  
  
“We just stopped by because you said you had something for me?” Ann smiles at Chris.  
  
“I do!” He holds up a hand, “and it is a lovely surprise. Come on, it’s in my office.”  
  
Leslie trails behind them. It is sinking in that while they’d talked a lot about pretend dating the only time they had been in public had been in Indianapolis, among his friends and colleagues. Doing it in City Hall was another matter.  
  
“Ben Wyatt look at what lovely surprises I found in City Hall,” Chris calls out.  
  
Leslie peaks around the corner to catch Ben barely glance up from his paper work, “Hey Ann,” but then he sees her in the doorway, “Heeeey,”    
  
The way his face changes sends flip flops coursing through to her finger tips and Leslie doesn’t bother to curtail them. He rounds the desk and kisses her on the cheek. His chin brushes her jaw and she notices he hadn’t shaved this morning.  
  
“Hey,” he tips his head closer to her, touches her back, and looks directly at her “I didn’t know you were coming here today.”  
  
“Oh, uh Chris has a surprise for um Ann so we stopped by,” she is caught off guard by the way he is smiling at her, “so yeah that’s why we’re here.”  
  
Ben keeps his hand anchored to her back, his fingers tips as light as lace, “Well, I’m glad I get to see you today,” he looks up at Ann, “I know it was a girls day.”  
  
Ann rolls her eyes but Chris doesn’t catch it. He is too busy retrieving the flowers. Leslie and Ben silently watch Ann oooh and ahhh appropriately over the roses. Leslie can’t help think it is kind of dumb to spend that much money on something that is going to die in a few days.  
  
She wishes she could steal a few moments alone with Ben, to apologize for springing this on him, to see how he is, and maybe even tug a smile out of him. But they are stuck as Chris and Ann trade You’re so sweet endearments to each other. Ben makes a sound low in the back of his throat and Leslie bites back a smile. Ann may not like that she and Ben make fun of Chris, but had she looked in the mirror?  
  
Finally Chris remembers they are in the room and addresses Leslie, “Leslie Knope, I am so glad you stopped by. Ben is always talking about how many great ideas you have and we need a great idea.”  
  
“He is? You do?” She looks between them. Ben straightens and drops his hand on her back, clears his throat.  
  
“You know the storm we had the other night?” he says, “Well, it knocked down a lot of the trees over onto the hiking trails out by the Sweetums factory. Washed out some of the paths too”  
  
“And we closed the trails,” Chris picks up, “but apparently people in Pawnee really like to hike because that didn’t stop them. They were up on the trails last night and two people fell off the trail and down an embankment. Apparently they do not have a good sense of balance.”  
  
“Or they were drunk,” Ben says, “but it doesn’t matter cause they are both in the hospital and the city manager  is worried about perception.”  
  
“But you closed the trails,” Ann says.  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Leslie mutters, “we’re still going to get flack for deciding to not posting a ranger out there and cutting the trail maintenance budget to nothing.”  
  
She tips her eyes toward Ben. They had argued about this very topic and he had won. Ben stuffs his hands in his pockets, hunches a bit, and leans with her against his desk. She frowns. He feels responsible and she knows thoughts about Ice Town are circling around in his brain.  
  
“Chris it’s my faul-,” he starts.  
  
Leslie talks over Ben, cuts him off, “We can clear it. The Parks department. We’ll go out there and clear the trails.”  
  
“Really?” This from Ben.  
  
But she doesn’t look at Ben. She looks straight at Chris, “There is a ranger cabin out there we can stay at and Ron and Jerry know those trails because they used to hunt out there. Tomorrow is Saturday so Tom and Donna won’t have work. Andy will come help because April is there and Ann,” she looks to Ann who nods, “Ann will help. We’ll get them cleared by Monday and no one can complain that the city didn’t respond fast enough. And if people are still outraged you can point out that the trails were closed and Pawnee is in a budget crisis. If people want to blame someone they should call their city council person and ask where the money went for services like that.”  
  
“We won’t be able to pay anyone,” Ben touches her wrist and she finally looks at him. Let me do this, she tries to tell him silently. To assure him that this is what friends do for one another.  
  
“That’s fine,” she smiles brightly, “we’re just concerned citizens volunteering our weekend.”  
  
Ben looks down and Leslie wonders what he is thinking.  
  
“Leslie Knope, Ben is right you are a good idea machine!” Chris exclaims, “you can count on Ben and me too to help. Oh, and we’ll have another set of hands. Our boss Penelope is coming into town this weekend. I’m sure she’d like nothing more than to spend the weekend in the woods with you and the Parks department.”  
  
***  
  
It is a testament to Ann and her beautiful face that she doesn’t say another word about Ben, Penelope, or their adventure into the woods while they shop. She even holds up a few plaid shirts Leslie knows would be too tight to comfortably clear trails in and suggests Leslie buy one.  
  
“You know, leave a few buttons undone and drive him crazy. It’ll help with the authenticity,” Ann says.  
  
“Are you enabling?”  
  
Her friend shrugs, “I may not approve of what you are doing, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want to see you kick that woman’s ass.”  
  
So Leslie does buy the shirt and does try it on that night as she packs her bag. Convincing her co-workers to help had been easy. Tom tried to demand he get comped for his time, but Leslie had Ron threaten to make him do real work once the government started back up and he quickly fell into line. The only other task was to fill her trunk with s’mores supplies and first aid kit. Ann was bringing the stuff for sandwiches and Ron demanded he be responsible for all meals where breakfast food was appropriate so breakfast and dinner were handled. It is almost as good as being back at work. The excitement of getting to  _do something_ felt better than those flip flops so when Ben calls later near midnight Leslie lets it go to voice mail. She doesn’t think about Penelope or pretend dating Ben in front of her co-workers. She’s too busy looking for her chain saw.


	7. Chapter 7

“Let’s go over this again,” Ann says as she turns the car onto the dirt road toward the ranger’s cabin. Her car dips and shudders through the potholes, “Are we sure this is the right place to turn?”  
  
“According to Ron’s map it is…” Leslie flips the hand drawn map Ron sketched on the back of a Mulligan’s napkin around. Maybe she was looking at it upside down? “Just keep going. We can always turn around.”  
  
“Fine. Repeat after me.”  
  
“Ann,” Leslie sighs, “I’ve got it.”  
  
“Then say it.”  
  
“I, one Leslie Barbara Knope, admit that I have feelings with one Benjamin Franklin Wyatt that are more than friendship but I will not act foolishly on those feelings. I will do everything in my power to uphold our friendship by fulfilling my end of our bargain. I will beat the bully Penelope not by acting childish, but by my wit and cunning, my sensuality and…seriously Ann? Sensuality?”  
  
Ann tips up an eyebrow, “Leslie, this woman is like a dog. And the dog is all about territory and even if that territory is pretend you still have to mark it.”  
  
“And my sensuality is like urine?”  
  
Ann hits the steering wheel, “Yes! You need to urinate all over Ben Wyatt.”  
  
“That didn’t sound right.”  
  
“No it did not.”  
  
Leslie exhales and picks the oath back up, “I will beat the bully Penelope not by acting childish, but by my wit and cunning, my sensuality and verve. I will not forget that I am doing this for Pawnee, for the Harvest Festival which is an awesome idea, and for the Parks department. I will do it and I will win the day because I am Leslie Knope and I am awesome. And then, only then, after all the pretend is finished will I ask one Benjamin Franklin Wyatt out on a date.”  
  
“And screw him if he says no,” Ann says.  
  
“Ann Perkins you beautiful, beautiful nurse.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie steps out of the car and exhales.  
  
She could not be more excited to do work, real work. Everyone else is here and ready to go. Not even Penelope can ruin this for her. She and Ann are the last ones here because Ann thought Chris was going to pick them up. Apparently, there had been a miscommunication because he drove Penelope out instead. Leslie isn’t sure what happened exactly. Ann had stepped out of the room when they finally got a hold of him and returned with a sigh and her car keys.  
  
It occurs to Leslie she probably should have checked with Ben to see how he was getting out to the ranger station. That is what real couples did, right? She isn’t good at this, the dating thing. She forgets the little things sometimes and forges ahead. Ann tells her she is independent and any man who dates her will appreciate that about her. She wonders if Ben appreciates her independence… but like Ann keeps making her repeat, they aren’t real. It is spun and concocted and Leslie can not forget that.  
  
Ben called her last night and she let it go to voicemail because she had been too busy getting ready. Now she pulls out her phone, enters her code and, presses it to her ear.  
  
“Leslie, it’s Ben. Um, so there is kind of a development that we should probably talk about. It’s nothing too major…well I just don’t want you to freak out but…”  
  
“Leslie Knope! Ann Perkins!” It is Chris coming out of the cabin.  
  
Leslie jumps and drops the phone. It hangs up the message.  
  
“Chris!” She says with mock enthusiasm. Ann gives her a look, but lets it go when Chris embraces her. They hold the kiss too long, stumble a step back up against the car and Leslie sighs, “Ugh.”  
  
She picks up her phone, drops it into her purse, and shoulders the first load and heads toward the cabin.  
  
This ranger cabin is slightly different than the other one. Mainly it is bigger which is good since there is more of them. Eleven people. They wouldn’t even have to use the bedrooms. The attic has two sprawling bunk rooms that will work. They can split up boys and girls and it would be just like camp. Leslie made Happy Fun bags for everyone, paper sacks for people to leave notes in to one another. The macaroni profiles had been tricky, but she’d managed.  
  
She is determined to not only beat Penelope, but to have fun while doing it too.  
  
***  
  
“Leslie Knope you sly middle aged vixen!” Tom exclaims as she struggles through the door. The bag with her binders is stuck on the jam.  
  
He stands there and watches her struggle. A stupid, silly grin on his face.  
  
“A little help?”  
  
“Not until you tell me, does Ben have the bridge of the Enterprise set up in his living room because that seems like the thing a nerd would do?”  
  
“What are you talking about?” She tugs and the bag comes free. She stumbles and ends up dropping everything onto the floor by her feet. Tom just stands there, “Seriously?” she looks at him.  
  
But he ignores her, “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Ben Wyatt when I took you out to lunch last week? And I thought we made a connection. I wouldn’t have paid otherwise.”  
  
“You didn’t pay and it was the food court,” Leslie rubs a temple.  
  
“But you didn’t tell me you were dating Ben Wyatt!”  
  
“Why do you care?”  
  
“Cause it means you can convince your man Ben to not fire any of your friends, starting with yours truly.” Tom points two thumbs back to himself.  
  
“Ben recused himself from the Parks budget,” Leslie starts to reshoulder her bags, “so go bug Ann cause Chris is the one in charge of it now.”  
  
“Dude, Leslie let me help!” This isn’t Tom, but Andy who appears from what Leslie guesses is the kitchen because he is eating two pudding cups as if they were shots. He takes the heaviest of bags from her, stuffing the pudding cups into his jean pockets.  
  
“Thanks Andy.”  
  
“Hey, good job on Ben Wyatt, by the way.”  
  
“How did? Did someone write it in the sky?”  
  
“Listen,” Andy sidles along side her as she makes her way into the cabin’s main room, “can you give me some advice on how you did it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“How you know convinced someone who hates you to date you? Cause, um, I think April is mad at me and I’m not sure how to you know…”  
  
Leslie drops all of her bags onto the couch and feels like throwing herself onto it after them. She turns to Andy who looks at her with such eagerness she cringes.  
  
“Um, try to undo whatever you did to make her so mad.”  
  
Andy’s eyes light up and he lifts both arms in excitement, but it is gone in an instant and he folds them across his chest and leans into Leslie, “So how exactly would one go about undoing a kiss?”  
  
“I don’t know Andy,” Leslie looks around. Where is everyone? She says absently, “Do the opposite of a kiss. Be mean or something.”  
  
She goes to the front door to see if people have gathered in the front yard, but Ann and Chris are still making out against the car, “Oy,” Leslie calls out, “Get the rest of the stuff when you come up for air.”  
  
All she gets in response is a wave of Ann’s hand. Apparently Chris was no longer in trouble for forgetting them.  
  
“Andy, Tom,” Leslie turns to them, “where is everyone and how exactly did you find out about Ben and me?”  
  
They answer at the same time.  
  
“Everyone is out back cause Ron trying to shoot an apple off Jerry’s head.”  
  
“Ben’s sister told us. Do you think you could help me tap that?”  
  
***  
  
Leslie blusters through the sliding glass doors off the kitchen and onto the back deck. She sees in the distance Jerry in the distance with Ron who is placing an apple on his head. Everyone else is clustered together with their backs to her. She picks out Penelope hanging onto Ben’s elbow. She is wearing jean cut offs, a tank top, and lace up hiking boots. Her hair is even in freaking pig tails.  
  
Ire rises up in Leslie’s throat and a wholly foreign feeling takes over her body. It is like the those flip flops, but different. It is as if something is curdling in her stomach and Leslie recognizes what it is. Jealously. She is jealous. Of Penelope’s long tan legs and the way her hands grip his elbow. Of the way she tips her head toward him, almost tucks it into his shoulder when she asks him something. She is jealous and it makes her sick because Leslie isn’t the jealous type. She doesn’t play those games. Any guy who looks away from her toward another woman isn’t worth the trouble.  
  
But this feels different.  
  
It annoys her and the fact that Ben is allowing it annoys her the most.  
  
“You must be Leslie,” the voice comes from over her shoulder.  
  
She turns. A young, slim woman stands in the doorway to the kitchen. She leans against the jam and sips from a mug. Leslie recognizes her right away as Jamie Wyatt.  
  
“I am,” Leslie says. She watches Jamie very carefully.  
  
The girl (She isn’t a girl. She is at least thirty.) moves onto the deck and stands next to Leslie, leans against the rail, and watches the group give a collective gasp as Ron successfully shoots an arrow through the apple on Jerry’s head.  
  
“Ben told me what you guys are doing,” Jamie keeps her eyes locked on Ben’s back which Penelope is rubbing now. His shoulders are hunched and even from here Leslie can tell he is incredibly uncomfortable.  
  
“And?”  
  
Jamie tips her head, “And it looks like you better get down there before she beats you at your own game.”  
  
***  
  
The fact that Jamie Wyatt is here will have to wait. Leslie has some flirting to do. She leaves Jamie on the porch and picks her way across the back lawn toward the crowd. As she approaches she squares her shoulders and mentally tells her breasts to perk up. The too tight plaid is packed in her bag; she had been too focused on real work to think to put it on this morning. She repeats Ann’s speech in her head…I, Leslie Barbara Knope…not act foolishly…my sensuality… Nothing about this is natural for Leslie. She is terrible at flirting, abhors obnoxious PDA, and is the least sensual woman there is. But it is for Ben and the Harvest Festival. It is for herself too. Part of her just really wants to win too.  
  
Jerry, who is still standing a hundred feet away with a new apple on his head, waves, “Hey Leslie!”    
  
Everyone turns. There is a chorus of greetings and and Leslie flashes a smile when Ben’s face practically sighs in relief. Automatically he moves toward her, away from Penelope. He kisses her on the cheek and Leslie wraps an arm around his back.  
  
“Hey guys!” She says and then looks just at Ben with what she hopes is love eyes, “Hey!” she practically purrs.  
  
Ben’s head jerks a little, but he recovers, “Hey?”  
  
“I ran into Jamie inside,” she says, “we got to catch up for a while,” she turns to Penelope, “have you ever met Ben’s sister? She’s, like, the best. Did you know she’s a lawyer? Total smarty pants that girl.”  
  
Penelope cocks her head and Ron narrows his eyes, but Leslie is just getting started. She swats Ben’s butt, which elicits an eep, and sidles up to Penelope.  
  
“Do you shoot?”  
  
“Do I what?” She laughs.  
  
“Shoot. Like a gun or a bow.” Leslie steps into Penelope’s personal space.  
  
For the first time, Penelope falters, “Uh no.”  
  
Leslie lets her eyes flicker up and down Penelope’s body. The other woman shifts, obviously uncomfortable.  
  
Leslie turns to Ron, “Can I borrow that?” She nods to his bow.  
  
“Leslie, what are you doing?” This comes from Ben who looks panicky. She looks over her shoulder at him and wrinkles her nose, “don’t worry babe, I know what I’m doing.” And from the leveling gaze she follows that up with he gets it. She does know what she is doing. Ann was right. Penelope was no better than a dog and Leslie was going to have to mark her territory and that started by showing Penelope that she was serious.  
  
“Don’t worry son,” Ron says as he hands Leslie the bow, “she knows what she is doing.” But she doesn’t escape the look of disapproval hiding under his mustache. He doesn’t know what is happening, but he doesn’t like it.  
  
“How you doing Jerry?” Leslie calls out as she tests the string, gets a feel for it. Behind her Chris, Ann, Tom, Andy, and Jamie have joined the rest of the group.  
  
Ann asks what is going on and Andy very loudly tells her that is a stupid question. Obviously Leslie is going to shoot Jerry in the head so she can win the apple. Obviously. Tom offers to catch Jamie if she faints from the blood that for sure is coming. She side steps him and comes to stand next to Ben, who, looks bewildered. What he doesn’t know is that this is a Pawnee rite of passage. She’s been shooting apples off fence posts since she was a kid. Ron did and April too. It was an ancient Wamapoke ritual for settling a dispute. When the parties couldn’t agree they took turn shooting apples off each other’s heads until one of the them missed.  
  
Penelope crosses her arms and comes to stand in Leslie’s purview, but Leslie isn’t going to be intimidated. She takes her stance and Ron hands her an arrow. Jerry gives her a sweaty looking smile as she strings the bow. Leslie forgets about the competition, about Ben, or her feelings. She remembers the rec center classes she’s taken and her own confidence. She may not be sensual or a flirt, but she can shoot an apple off the top of Jerry’s head. She’s Leslie Fucking Knope.  
  
***  
  
Afterwards, after they revive Jerry with smelling salts, Leslie notices that Ben is not happy. He doesn’t find her in the room. Doesn’t anchor his hand on the familiar spot on her back. He and Ann stand together in the kitchen, arms crossed, looking like a bunch of nagging Nancy’s. Ron,  on the other hand, is pouring whiskey into tumblers.  
  
“To the hunt!” he says.  
  
“I thought we were clearing trails.” April says.  
  
“We are,” Leslie grins, “but it’s the only toast Ron knows,” and she tips back the whiskey.  
  
“It’s a fine toast.” Ron mutters and clinks glasses with Tom and Jerry, who looks winded for some reason. Andy tries to toast with April, but she turns away and watches Donna shotgun two tumblers at the same time. Chris is entertaining Penelope who looks put out and Ann and Ben continue to glare in the corner. Jamie Wyatt hovers in the background with her mug of coffee and looks between Leslie and Ben with rapt attention.  
  
With Penelope settled for the time being, Leslie decides it is time to get to the real work. She retrieves her binder from her purse and pulls out the color coded sleeping arrangement chart.  
  
“Okay, first we need to get unpacked. I’ve got the girls in the west bunk room and the boys in the east.”  
  
“We already unpacked,” April smacks her gum, “Donna and I called the room at the top of the stairs.”  
  
“The lovely Ann Perkins and I are going to take the back room since it will allow the most privacy,” Chris says, “We took this tantric workshop last weekend and are very excited to practice.”  
  
“I will not be sleeping indoors,” Ron says. “I fashioned a survival shelter outside if anyone would like to join me there.”  
  
“I will gladly bunk with Jamie!” Tom says, but she rolls her eyes and calls the couch. Before Leslie can protest Tom ends up with Andy and Penelope takes the only remaining room with two beds.  
  
“You and Ben can have the little bedroom next to mine. It has a very quaint little bed,” she simpers, “but do try to keep it down. Some of us will actually be sleeping.”  
  
Everyone files out of the room to unpack and change into clothes to clear trails. Ben, who is still annoyed, leaves her standing there with her mouth hanging open. This is so not going according to plan. Only Jerry is still sitting there.  
  
“Where am I going to sleep?”  
  
“Shut up Jerry.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie has work teams planned, but Donna informs Leslie that she doesn’t do hiking and Jerry still hasn’t fully recovered from his fainting spell so they offer to stay back and make lunch. April refuses to step foot in the woods on the chance there might be spiders; Andy vows to stay near her and protect her which looks to Leslie not be helping his cause. Chris suggests they pair off since they can cover more territory that way. Before Leslie can protest he and Ann are armed with the necessary equipment and heading towards the woods.  
  
“What do you say honey cakes?” Tom looks at Jamie who was saying something to Ben, “let’s do this.”  
  
Jamie doesn’t even look at him, “I’ll go with Leslie.”    
  
Even Ben looks surprised, but he just shrugs and turns to a disappointed Tom, “Want to do this?”  
  
“I guess you are with me,” Ron says to Penelope.  
  
“Great.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie casts a look in Ben’s direction as he heads out with Tom. How dare he be mad at her! She knew what she was doing and most importantly it worked. Why he should be thanking her! She did what Ben couldn’t: get Penelope to Back. The. Fuck. Off.  
  
Ann’s words return to her, You like to fix things for people. You can’t solve this for him.  
  
Well, they’ll see about that. Ann lets Chris stick his tongue down her throat so what does Ann know?  
  
Jamie falls into step with Leslie and they head towards the woods. It occurs to Leslie that no one has explained to her why Jamie is here.  
  
“Why can’t your brother stand up for himself?” she stops suddenly.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Why doesn’t he just tell her no? Why doesn’t he demand Chris stop taking credit for his work? Why is he still in the state auditor’s office if he wants to run for office again?”  
  
Jamie doesn’t say anything, just sighs.    
  
They walk on a while. Leslie watches Jamie out of the corner of her eye. She looks like Ben: the same lithe build, same thick brown hair, same kind eyes. She isn’t much taller than Leslie and exceedingly pretty. She is like a doll: tiny, petite, straight white teeth, and a long pony tail that swings as she walks. Leslie isn’t sure what to think of her. The way Ben talked of her Leslie expected her to be effusive and lively, but instead she has the same marked reserve that irritates her so much about Ben.  
  
They get to the first fallen trees and Leslie digs in her knapsack for her gloves. Jamie does the same and for a few minutes they work in silence side by side. If Jamie doesn’t want to talk to her then Leslie isn’t going to let it bother her. She didn’t ask to be partnered with her. It doesn’t matter to her if Ben’s sister refuses to talk to her.  
  
Leslie falls into the rhythm of the work: hack limbs, stretch up, and throw  into pile. Over and over she does it and the repetition lulls her mind. Her heart pounds in her ears from the exertion, but it is a steady beat. Her ire calms and she lets herself enjoy the heat of the sun on the back of her neck, the way the light dapples the forest floor, and the cry of a hawk circling above them. She doesn’t think of Ben or worry about Penelope. She just enjoys the work, the reward of knowing she is getting something done, that she is making a difference.  
  
For whatever reason she thinks of the mother and daughter enjoying their hot dogs at that picnic in Indianapolis. This moment feels like that one. They have nothing in common except the deep satisfaction that both moments give her soul. Even if everything around her is falling apart she can step into a moment like this and know that somewhere there is a mother and a daughter enjoying the afternoon, a citizen helping clear a park, and that gives her the encouragement she needs. Somewhere the world is right and that is enough for her.  
  
“Are you falling in love with my brother?” Jamie straightens and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. It smears dirt across her face and Leslie decides she likes Jamie more that way: a little less perfect.  
  
“No.”  
  
Jamie tips her head and says, “Hmmm.”  
  
Leslie wants to push for more, ask why she would ask that, but she doesn’t. She isn’t going to let Jamie get to her anymore than she will Penelope.  
  
They work for a long time - at least an hour - without speaking and finally just as they are lugging the last tree off the path, Jamie asks again.  
  
“Are you falling in love with my brother?”  
  
“No.”  
  
And again an hour later as they clear another set of trees.  
  
“Are you falling in love with my brother?”  
  
This time Leslie hesitates, “No.”  
  
The sun is high in the sky when they head back toward the ranger’s cabin. It is long after lunch, but Leslie had been determined to clear the whole trail and Jamie worked diligently by Leslie’s side, matching her every effort. Sometimes Leslie would feel Jamie’s gaze on her back, observing her, but Leslie pretended not to notice.  
  
When they can see the ranger’s cabin, Jamie puts a hand on Leslie’s elbow.  
  
“Are you falling in love with my brother?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe?” Leslie whirls on her and shouts, “And why the hell do you care because obviously you don’t like me? I mean we’ve been together all day and you barely talk to me. Why are you here anyway? Did you just show up on his front door?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
This takes her by surprise, “Oh.”  
  
Jamie swallows, “I fell in love with my client.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I work for legal aid in Chicago and we took on this case and it got assigned to me. I fell in love with the guy.”  
  
“Was he guilty?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Of what?”  
  
“Robbery. He held up a convenience store.”  
  
Leslie isn’t sure how to respond. She furrows her brow and starts a half dozen sentences in her head but none of them sound right.  
  
“He didn’t have a gun,” Jamie says.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“He didn’t have a gun. He never meant to hurt anyone. He has a little girl and she needs this surgery and he didn’t have insurance. He needed the money.” Jamie explains quickly. Her breath hitches, “and I fell in love with him. I let it cloud my thinking and I didn’t do a good job by him. He plead out and got the higher sentence. He’ll be in there longer than he should be and its my fault,” and she looks away from Leslie as if chastised. It occurs to Leslie how young she really is, how this is probably the first time she’s screwed up, and that of all people Jamie could go to it is Ben she turned too. Ben, who had failed miserably and recovered. Few people, Leslie thinks, have the grace to fail splendidly, to fall down and pick themselves back up. Too many people let failure chase them like a nightmare. Ben Wyatt, human disaster he might be, goes on. He endures.  
  
Leslie blinks for a while, lets the story settle in, and says the first thing that comes to mind, “The little girl? Is she alright? Did she get the surgery?”  
  
The question throws Jamie, “Um, yeah.” She stares hard at Leslie.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s just that Ben asked that very same question. You are the only people who thought to ask about the little girl.”  
  
***  
  
“What the hell happened to the meat?”  
  
They can hear Ron bellowing before they can see him. In the front yard Ron, Jerry, Ben, and Chris stand over the coolers. Beyond Andy throws a football at Tom who ducks. April and Donna sit on the porch and Penelope is pacing among the cars on her phone, hissing about something.  
  
“I’m sorry Ron,” Jerry blubbers, “I put them outside because I thought it would be nice to eat under the trees and I didn’t realize the meat was still in there.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Leslie approaches.  
  
“Jerry left all of our food in the sun and the meat went bad,” Ben explains. He stands with his arms crossed and makes no effort to touch Leslie.  
  
“Okay,” Leslie exhales, “What are our options?”  
  
But the question is moot because Ron is already stalking toward his survival shelter. Everyone watches as he emerges with a shot gun over his shoulder. As he disappears into the woods, Penelope shrieks, “Is that a gun? I am not going to stay here if there are guns. I am a pacifist.”  
  
Chris beams, “I literally could not agree with you more Penelope.”  
  
No one, not even Jerry, says anything.  
  
***  
  
People make turkey sandwiches and settle down on the porch. Ben asks Jamie how her afternoon was, blatantly ignoring Leslie. Jamie gives Leslie a sympathetic smile before going inside with her brother to get food. Ann catches the exchange as she comes out of the cabin. Andy is hot on her heels.  
  
“And all the times you made me wear pants. Oh, how about when you were late to my show because that woman at your dentist went into labor?”  
  
“Andy!” Ann spins, “what the hell are you doing?”  
  
He seems taken aback, “Am I hurting your feelings A-cakes?”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” she hisses, “and yes you are.”  
  
She doesn’t wait for Andy and stalks past all of them, clearly upset. Leslie looks at Chris who is sitting on at a picnic table with Penelope. He doesn’t seem to notice Ann.  
  
Leslie follows after her best friend. She is around the back of the house, sitting on the steps of the deck.  
  
“Hey,” Leslie sits next to her, “so this might be my fault.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Because April is mad at him for kissing you this spring and I told him being mean might be the opposite of a kiss.”  
  
“Ughhh,” Ann drops her head into her hands, “and what the hell is going on with Chris? It’s like he’s a barnacle on Penelope’s ass he’s kissing it so much.”  
  
Leslie lays her head on Ann’s shoulder, “I might have told Jamie that I might maybe be falling in love with Ben.”  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
Leslie sighs, “Yeah and I might maybe have meant it too.”  
  
“That somehow makes me feel a lot better.”

***

They pair off again and go back into the woods to continue to clear. Jamie joins Ben, Leslie pairs up with Ann and they leave Tom, Chris, and Penelope behind with Donna, Jerry, Andy, and April.  
  
She and Ann have a good time together - complaining about men, making fun Jerry, and generally being together.  
  
“You should change into that shirt,” Ann says as they head back to the cabin. The sun is sinking in the sky and Leslie almost doesn’t care about Ben or Penelope.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Sensuality. Gotta use it.”  
  
Leslie sighs, “Okay.”  
  
***  
  
She doesn’t look in the mirror when she puts on the shirt. Doesn’t have too. It fits like a second skin. Ann nods when Leslie steps out of the bathroom into the hall.  
  
“Unbutton another button.”  
  
“That’ll just be slutty.”  
  
“Leslie, she has her hair in pigtails,” Ann hisses, “and Ben’s being a high and mighty prick. They deserve it.”  
  
She can’t argue with that logic.  
  
Leslie feels self-conscious as she descends the stairs, remembers to suck her stomach in, but the way Andy’s eyes pop when he sees her Leslie knows she looks good.  
  
“Leslie, don’t take this the wrong way since you’re my boss but I’d totally tap that,” He says.  
  
April comes into the room, “me too.”  
  
Outside Donna is buffering her car and talking to Tom about the latest from Milan’s runway shows. When she sees Leslie she lets out a whistle and Tom gives her a thumbs up. Ben’s back is to her. Penelope is holding onto his elbow again, talking, ironically, about cougars.  
  
“Do you think they’ll be able to get into the cabin?”  
  
“Uh, I don’t think there are cougars in Indiana,” Ben stammers.  
  
He tries to extricate himself but she hangs on, “Ben, how’d you get so smart?”  
  
Before Ben can say anything, Leslie taps Penelope on the shoulder.  
  
“Excuse me, but I need you to back off my boyfriend.”  
  
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”  
  
She gets between Penelope and Ben, “I need you. to. back. off. my. boyfriend.”  
  
Penelope snorts, “You guys aren’t really dating. He just made that up because he’s scared of what’s between us.”  
  
Leslie licks her lips, “You don’t think this is real?”  
  
She grabs Ben by the shirt front and pulls him to her. Their lips meet and it takes the length of a breath for him to fall into step, but when he does he closes the distance between them. His hands reach up to cup her face and Leslie exhales against him.  
  
It is like a long drink of water on the hottest day. It is like the first drop on a roller coaster and snow on Christmas Eve. It is thrilling and languid, new and familiar at the same time. Ben changes angles and she follows, opens her lips and welcomes his tongue. She presses against the length of his body and feels the tremble in his arms. He nips her lower lip and it steals her breath. And when they break apart, he is still cradling her face in his hands.  
  
***  
  
They break apart because Ron emerges from the woods with a deer draped over his shoulders.  
  
“Dude, is that dead?” Andy exclaims.  
  
“Of course she is. Took me a while to find her after I shot her. She ran a ways.” Ron lifts the deer off his shoulders and gingerly drops her onto the ground, “Now who wants to help me butcher her? We can have venison for dinner.”  
  
April volunteers and Tom faints.  
  
Leslie doesn’t pay attention to what is happening around her. She has not broken away from Ben who is breathing just as heavily as she is, who seems rendered dumb. Wordlessly she reaches for his hand and he laces his fingers with hers. She tugs him toward the cabin and he follows. They go inside and upstairs to their tiny bedroom in the back.  
  
When Ben closes the door, he leans against it. Leslie paces at the end of the bed, wringing her hands. She did not expect that. The butterflies in her stomach are unbearable and when Ben says her name she presses a hand to her abdomen, reminds herself to think of the whole day and not to get lost in the kiss.  
  
“Leslie,” he says again. She looks at him and he drops his head.  
  
“You’ve been terrible to me all day,” she says, “you got mad at me for no reason.”  
  
“It was stupid to shoot that arrow. It just pissed her off.”  
  
“And that’s the point.”  
  
“No,” he punctuates each word with the slap of his hand against his palm, “the point is to convince her we’re dating. To get her to back off, but at the end of the day I still need her recommendation. I need her in order to get out.”  
  
“To do what?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“What are you so desperate to get out for? What is it that you want, Ben?”    
  
His eyes narrow, “What the hell is it to you?”  
  
And that is exactly what Leslie was afraid of. She didn’t mean anything to him. Ann was right to warn her off. It was nothing but a transaction to him.  
  
“I feel sorry for you, Ben,” she bites back, “because you are so scared that someone might actually care about you, might actually want to be your friend, that everything has to be about give and take. Everyone has to have an angle. And that is a small life. I pity someone who lives life like that.” She turns away, hugs her arms tight around her stomach.  
  
“Leslie.”  
  
“Just go. Please,” she sinks down onto the bed and the springs creak beneath her.  
  
Ben hesitates but wordlessly he escapes from the room and leaves Leslie alone in the slanted darkness of twilight.  
  
***  
  
Leslie always loved morning. When sunlight whitewashed the world she believed everything reset. Each morning was a new opportunity to start over.  
  
So when she wakes up, Leslie has almost forgotten about what happened the night before: the kiss, their argument, and how she went to bed after he left, climbed in, and let herself cry for exactly five minutes before falling into an exhausted sleep. Almost but not the entirely.  
  
She sits up, stretches, and sees the blankets on the floor at the foot of the bed. She crawls forward and peers over the edge of the bed. He must have slept on the floor. The pillow still has the indent of his head.  
  
Then Leslie smells the coffee. It sits on her night stand, a cup filled to the brim with whipped cream. Next to it is a post-it.  
  
I do care.  
  
Leslie can’t help but smile.  
  
***  
  
When she goes downstairs Ben is the only one awake. He is in the kitchen and the radio is on softly, the classical station.  
  
“Hey,” Leslie says.  
  
When he turns around there is a smile on his face, but he ducks his head, leans back against the counter, and crosses his legs at the ankles. He is barefoot and the sight of him in athletic shorts, white t-shirt, and rumpled hair causes her stomach to betray her and flip flop.  
  
“Hey,” he says.  
  
“I got your coffee,” she lifts the mug, “and your note.”  
  
“Leslie, I am so sorry,” he takes a few steps and stops. They hold the gaze and the pressure of it builds in Leslie’s chest. She swallows and breaks away. It is too much.  
  
“I know.”  
  
He runs a hand through his hair, “I want to explain…”  
  
“You don’t have too.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can. Not fully. Not yet.”  
  
He is hesitant and Leslie decides to let it go, to not press for a why. The peace between them is too tentative and fragile. Both of them feel exposed and she knows she is not ready to admit to anything. Instead she sniffs, looks around, and spots the waffle maker.  
  
“Are you making me breakfast?” She smiles.  
  
Ben reddens, “Uh, I want to make it up to you and I figured breakfast was a good place to start.”  
  
It was.  
  
***  
  
Ben singles her out when they pair off to clear trails, trails his hand across her shoulders, and asks if she would mind.  
  
She doesn’t.  
  
Jamie finally concedes to Tom and they take off for the woods. Ben looks uneasy and Leslie teases him.  
  
“She can handle herself.”  
  
“Yeah that doesn’t make me feel better,” he mutters.  
  
Sometime overnight Ann seemed to have forgiven Chris and they are back to nuzzling and generally sickening behavior. Leslie frowns, but doesn’t let it diminish her mood. When Penelope finally graces everyone with her presence long after breakfast Ben shifts his arm around Leslie’s waist. She skirts around them, but Ben doesn’t drop his hand. It stays rooted there all morning and Leslie can’t help the butterflies when he rubs his thumb absently along her hip bone.  
  
When they head into the woods he drops his arm but it is reluctantly. Instead, they amble down the trail and talk. Ben explains how Jamie showed up at his door, how her supervisor found out about the affair, and how she might lose her job.  
  
“She didn’t go home? To your mom?” Leslie asks.  
  
Ben sighs, “Mom is great, but she’s kind of harsh. She expects a lot out of us.”  
  
“Hence the boy mayor, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says ruefully, “that wasn’t pretty. I don’t blame Jamie for wanting to put it off as long as possible.”  
  
Leslie doesn’t say it, but she wonders if Jamie went to Ben because of all their family he might be the most generous, empathetic.  
  
Somewhere in the day they find their footing again. They talk as they clear fallen trees. They even come up with a handshake to celebrate each cleared tree. But it doesn’t fix everything. Leslie is still hesitant. She doesn’t know why he is doing this, if it is out of guilty conscience or something more. She doesn’t trust the signals. They are too muddled in pretend and half-truths. At one point Ben tries to brush an eyelash from her cheek and she jerks away, says she is allergic to fingers. She catches him watching her and the pressure of the gaze makes her blush. It is frank and unapologetic. It makes the hairs on her arms stand up.    
  
He does most of the talking, offers up stories about him and Jamie, him and Jacks. It is like he is waving a flag and shouting, Look, I’m trying to open up. I want to be friends. Leslie appreciates it, really she does, but she’s not sure it is enough. Last night showed her how far she’d already fallen for him. Unless she is sure Leslie can’t afford the risk.  
  
***  
  
“Leslie, are you pretending to date Ben Wyatt?” Ron sits down next to her on the log.  
  
It is evening and everyone else is inside cleaning up from dinner and starting a fire in the fire place. Andy and April seem to have made up and are engaging in a very epic marshmallow fight. Through the screen door Leslie can hear Ben protest as they launch the marshmallows at him.  
  
She nods.  
  
He blusters, “I am going to regret this.”  
  
“Regret what?”  
  
“What I am about to do.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“Interfere in the lives of my co-workers,” he picks up a stick and throws it. It lands somewhere in the darkness. Above them the sky is darkening and storm clouds hover on the horizon, “You deserve better.”  
  
“He’s a good guy.”  
  
“I’m sure he is,” Ron looks at her, “but you deserve better than a fake relationship.”  
  
She nods, “I know.”  
  
Ron exhales through his nose so it sounds like a snort. The corners of Leslie’s mouth twitch. She thinks of the memory of the mother and daughter, of the satisfaction she got from clearing the paths, and of her kiss with Ben.    
  
“Is it possible,” she starts, “to like your life, to really love it, and still want more?”  
  
Ron considers and turns slightly toward the cabin, “Isn’t that where all of us are?”  
  
Leslie muses. She doesn’t think Penelope is happy and for some reason she doubts Chris is either despite how enthusiastic he is. But the rest of them: Tom, Andy, April, Donna, Jerry, and Ann. They were happy. Daily life held joy for them (or for April it was the simple achievement of not hating everything) and Leslie knew that was why they were her friends.  
  
“Ron,” she stands up, “I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back.”  
  
“Leslie,” he calls out and she turns, “you deserve better but I’m glad you’re kicking that woman Penelope’s ass. She’s an insult to all the world’s brunettes.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie leaves Ron and heads down one of the trails with a flash light. The sun has set and the woods is dark. She doesn’t want to go too far because there is a storm approaching and she’s not stupid. But she wants to be alone.  She wants the room to think and find her own mind.  
  
All of it: how she feels about Ben, the strange desire she has to punch Penelope, her frustration with Ann, and her fears are all jumbled together in a messy knot and she can’t seem to untangle a single one. If only she could figure out one of them then she might be able to make sense of it, but Ben leads to Penelope and her insecurities. Those circle back around to Ann who is telling Leslie to be reasonable and level headed while making a fool out of herself with Chris. It makes Leslie want to say screw it to all of it, to jump feet first into the deep end and see what happens.  
  
“Leslie?”  
  
It is Ben. She swallows.  
  
“I’m over here!” she flashes her flash light.  
  
“Leslie, what are you doing out here?” he comes around the bend in the trail and stops a few feet from her, “come inside. It’s not safe out here.”  
  
She remembers how he is a safety freak and smiles. It is strange, but the parts of Ben that cause her stomach to flutter, that make her knees weak, and linger in her consciousness before she falls asleep are the caring parts. It is the hand on her back to guide her, the carefully cooked meal, the call in the morning after the storm. It is the fact that to his baby sister he is the safe house, the place where she won’t be judged. It is the meticulous plans for the Harvest Festival and how he takes the time to ask her opinion on Pawnee’s budget even though he doesn’t have too. It is how his eyes never quite leave her and how now he is standing in front of her, obviously anxious, and waiting. Waiting for her to come inside with him because in a room full of people he looked up and noticed she wasn’t there.  
  
It is being cared for in the way that Leslie cares for everyone else that finally releases her. It gives her the courage to swallow and says screw it.  
  
“Why did you say my name?” Leslie exclaims.  
  
“What?” Ben looks dumbfounded. The wind picks up and tousles his hair.  
  
“Why did you tell Penelope you were dating me? Why my name?”  
  
He jerks his head a little and says, “You want to do this? You want to tell the truth?”  
  
She nods.  
  
He crosses the distance between them and leans in close without actually touching her, “Because you were the name on my lips. You were who I was thinking about.”  
  
“Why was that?” she even her chin and meets his eye.  
  
Rain drops start to fall and the sky bellows, “Because you drive me crazy,” Ben shouts. He grabs her upper arms and holds here there, “You are reckless and brilliant and naive and passionate all at the same time. You marched into my office and put your job on the line for a fair. A fair, Leslie, because you think it’ll save your friend’s jobs and make people believe in their community. I look at you sometimes and wonder how you don’t just combust with how much energy you have. I’ve never met someone like you - someone who is insane and perfect at the same time. I mean, how has the world not ruined you, yet? How do you get up every day and go out on these crazy limbs for people? Don’t you get the risk? Don’t you get that you could get burned?” he shakes her a little at the end, not hard, just a tremble that pulsates between them. He lets go of her, half turns away, and laughs a bitter laugh, “You’ve upended every preconceived notion I had about life and I have no idea what to do about it.”  
  
The wind steals Leslie’s breath. The rain is coming down now, soaking them. Her hair is plastered to her forehead and she is trying to find words but she can’t seem too. There is a flash of lightening and roll of thunder and it really does sound closer this time. She thinks they should get inside, dry off, and talk. Really talk.  
  
And so, in a move she knows will infuriate him, she takes off running, wordlessly, for the cabin.  
  
***  
  
Leslie shuts the door and leans against it. It makes a soft click and gives all the way. She sways on her feet. Water drips from her hair, falls, and runs the length of her collar bone. She shivers. Every nerve in her body hums, tuning themselves like an orchestra, so that every sensation is a charge: the wood grain against her palms, the water running down the front of her shirt, the pressure of Ben’s eyes on her.    
  
Downstairs she can hear the muted tones of an argument. She imagines it is Tom outraged to have been hustled by Ron at poker and she smiles.  
  
“What?” Ben asks. He hadn’t moved far from her, just a few feet further into the room. He stands with his feet astride and hands stuffed into his pockets. It takes her by surprise the way he is looking at her, an invisible pressure that pins her to the door.  
  
She swallows and forces her voice to be light and inconsequential, “It sounds like everyone is having fun.”  
  
“It does.”  
  
He is still looking at her like that, like he is standing on a precipice, and she knows if she meets his gaze she will go over the edge, with or without him. Leslie feels the flutters in her stomach, the ones that have been growing since they kissed yesterday. They run the length of her finger tips and to give her hands something else to do she wrings out her hair. Something else to do. That is what she needs. She needs to find clothes and get out of this room and do something else, anything else, because if not…  
  
“Leslie.”    
  
He says her name like it is lodged in his chest, stealing his breath. She tries to get around him, to her night bag, but he holds his ground and says her name again.  
  
“Leslie.”  
  
And that is the mistake she makes. She looks him in the eye.  
  
Leslie exhales.  
  
And Ben moves.  
  
He backs them against the door. Her head bumps against the wood and his fingers reach up to touch the spot, to buffer, a second too late. But none of that matters because Ben is kissing her. Kisses her. Closed lips, a tilt of the head to catch a new angle, but the intensity knocks the breath out of her, causes an umphf to echo in her chest. The end is hesitant as if he is trying to give her room to push him away. But Leslie’s arms aren’t working. They are heavy by her side and she follows his lips across hers. He traces the underline of her jaw with a forefinger and leans his other palm on the door, enclosing her in him. He pulls back a hair’s breadth and Leslie exhales.  
  
In that exhale he reads her permission. He lowers his lips to hers again but this time it isn’t careful. He changes angles and Leslie’s brain works finally. She threads her fingers through his hair and arches toward him. This spurs Ben on. His tongue darts over hers and she runs her teeth over his lower lip. He dips a little and catches her hips with his own, pressing them up against the door so Leslie is on the tips of her tennis shoes. They squeak against the floor, the only sound in the room. He has got her by the waist, an entire arm wrapped around her, and it makes Leslie feel tiny, held. His other arm braces them against the door as their hips sway back and forth, arching and retreating.  
  
She hikes half a leg around his and it sends them off kilter. Ben doesn’t stop pressing: mouths, arms, chests, and hips. Their full lengths yearn for relief from this sudden heat that Leslie knows has been building for far too long. It sends them skittering sideways and they bump, bump, bump against the door. They just can’t get close enough.  
  
The footfalls on the steps freeze them. Ben’s mouth is half open against hers and when Leslie turns her head he presses a wet kiss on her chin.  
  
They wait as someone, maybe Andy, passes by the hall. They stay like that longer than necessary, eyes skewed in opposite directions. Leslie waits until she can’t stand it any longer. Her leg is falling asleep hitched up over his and finally she turns back to him and finds herself looking up at him looking down at her. She licks her lips and Ben tightens his grip on her.  
  
“Leslie,” he says her name again. It isn’t a question or a statement, but something in the middle that hangs between them for her determine.  
  
She shifts, frees her arms, and places either palm on the side of his face. They meet in the middle and it is a gentle, achingly soft kiss. Ben cradles her face with both of his hands and Leslie drops her fingers to grip his wrists. They straighten against the door, still pressed, and exhale together.  
  
Ben chuckles and runs a hand down her side, grazes the side of her breast, her ribs, and settles on her hip.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ve wanted to do this ever since I woke up and found you wearing my shirt.”  
  
She smiles against his lips as he presses a quick succession of kisses.  
  
“Really?”  
  
He nods and deepens the kiss. Leslie wants to know more but it can wait.  
  
Ben’s teeth nip at  her lip and Leslie tilts her head back so he can access her neck. He roots there, licking the spot just beneath her ear and trailing kisses along her collar bone. His hands find the zipper on her jacket and tug it down, pushes it off her shoulders. Leslie hooks her fingers beneath the t-shirt plastered to his skin and pulls up. He breaks the kiss just long enough to help her get his t-shirt off. Leslie drops her gaze to Ben’s pale, wiry frame in the half light of the evening. The only light in the room is the purple haze of twilight and it occurs to Leslie that the storm is still raging outside.  
  
But she doesn’t think on that because Ben is kissing her again and his knuckles brush against her breast bone as he undoes the buttons of her too tight plaid shirt.  
  
“Ann made me buy this to drive you crazy,” Leslie mutters between kisses. Ben pushes it off her shoulders.  
  
“It worked,” he says and then pulls away, “I thought Ann didn’t approve of me.”  
  
Leslie smiles, “she doesn’t but she hates bullies and we figured the best way to convince Penelope was for at least some part of it to be real.”  
  
She dips her head to kiss his shoulder, but Ben catches her chin and forces her to meet his eyes. He seems about to say something and Leslie doesn’t know if she wants him too. She doesn’t know if she wants him to tell her that this is real or to say nothing at all and let her live alone with her feelings. Whatever he was about to say, something in her eyes stops him. Instead,  he closes his eyes, drops his forehead to hers, and lets go of her chin. His hand falls, skirts across the plane of her stomach, and grips her hips to guide them toward him. She smiles.  
  
This part is very real. She can feel how much he wants her. It is pressed against her and her legs open up to him and that makes it very real.  
  
Suddenly Leslie wants very much to get out of her clothes. Before the accidental touch of their skin had been enough, but now she wants to touch all of him, skin against skin. Needs it really.  
  
Leslie barely has the time to remember to suck in her stomach, to wonder what kind of bra she is wearing before it is gone and Ben is crushing them together against the door.  
  
“Bed,” he says, “we need to get to the bed or I am going to take you right here and then you’ll have splinters in your ass.”  
  
“Bed,” she agrees.  
  
They bump toward the bed, shedding shoes and socks, pants and underwear as they go. And finally Ben kicks his jeans away, straightens, and Leslie gets to see him completely.  
  
The male body isn’t like the female one. It looks funny naked. The penis isn’t attractive, bulbous and unnaturally swollen when charged. And there is the upper male thigh, the part that never sees sunlight and always reminded Leslie of a boiled chicken breast. Ben is kind of funny looking if she just stares at the pieces. He is skinny and pale. The hair on his chest is sparse and his hands seemed disproportionately large next to the rest of him. But then she sees the hands tremble, just a slight tremor, and her heart floods.  
  
He is nervous. The same thrilling fear that is coursing through her has struck him too.  
  
She leans into him, feels him find the warmth between her legs, and sighs. His arms wrap around her and they don’t tremble. He may be nervous and she might be nervous, but what is happening right is strong and steady. She tucks her face into his neck, “You’re hot.”  
  
He laughs, mutters, “And you are beautiful,” and tugs the two of them back onto the bed.  
  
They fall sideways, lay there for a long second, and Leslie closes her eyes as Ben trails his finger tips up and down her side, tracing the path from her ribs to her hip bone. Impatient, Leslie cups his ass and rolls on top of him. She straddles him and is satisfied to see Ben’s eyes go wide. His hands slide up her thighs and lock in the small of her back. It tips her pelvic forward and she can feel the length of him between her legs. It makes her wet and she enjoys it for a long moment, eyes closed, slowly rocking her hips back and forth in imperceptible movements. She is rewarded with the hitch in his breath and the long groan.  
  
“You’re killing me.”  
  
“Then do something about it,” she grins.  
  
And he does. He rolls her, pins her to the bed, and captures her gasp with his mouth. And Leslie has the fleeting thought that Ben’s insane attention to detail has benefits besides fiscal responsibility. They make out for a long time: her on her back and him hovering on his elbows over her. Ben doesn’t move to touch her in any other way; he kisses her so that it leaves her tugging his hands to her breasts, to her center, and begging him to do more. And finally when he pulls away and she raises her head to follow his lips he mutters, “See it’s not fair.”  
  
That gets her ire up. She pinches his ass.  
  
“Leslie!”  
  
“Shhhh! They’ll hear you.”  
  
“I want them to hear you,” he says it into her ear. She can’t help it, she groans, from want and laughter, but then he shifts and his fingers are stroking her and it becomes a sigh into his shoulder. She bends a knee as he makes circles with his thumb and lets herself enjoy it. Lets herself float up and away in the same delicious buzz she got after a few glasses of wine. It’s so pleasant that she doesn’t realize he’s moved off her until he is kneeling between her legs.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
He presses a kiss to her lips, “Trust me. Lift your hips.” She does so obediently and he slides a pillow beneath them. It is only then that she gets what he is going to do.  
  
“Ben…”  
  
“Leslie, trust me.” He says, but the look on her face must have been one of panic because instead he lays down on his side, fingers still stroking her lightly. Leslie curls onto her side and then lay there facing each other. He pushes a strand of hair off her forehead, “Look at me,” he says. She does and they lock eyes. He curls a finger into her then, flashes it in and out, and she gasps. She tucks her chin, but he guides it back so they are looking at one another. She bites down on her lip and Leslie realizes this might be the most intimate thing she’s ever done. He is watching it happen to her: the blossoming and tightening at the same time as he fingers quicken. He hears the gasp of breath as she feels the wave build. It is happening and she wants so badly to close her eyes, to escape into the darkness and the feelings and let them be just that: anonymous, incredible feelings like they’ve been so many times before with other men, but she forces herself to keep the gaze. It won’t just be sighs and sensations. It will be him doing this to her.  
  
And then she wants him with her, to come with her, more than she wants to come at all. She finds him, wraps her fingers around him and begins pumping. She is rewarded with a gasp and groan. They are touching each other, building each other up, without breaking that gaze. It is like an undertow and Leslie knows she won’t be able to swim against it much longer.  
  
“In me. I want you in me,” she rasps. He starts to say something, but she guides him into her, slips him in because god she is wet, and both of them exhale as he flexes forward and settles in.  
  
“Oh fuck,” he says and she laughs low in her throat something wholly satisfied.  
  
Ben takes over. His hips move over hers and there is the sound of air sucking as he pumps. Leslie opens her legs as wide as she can and touches him everywhere: neck, ribs, and chest. He pumps harder and faster.  
  
“I lied, earlier,” he says it like a confession.  
  
“What?”  
  
“When I said…I’ve wanted this since… you wore my shirt…I lied,” he can barely get it out between breaths. Leslie reaches up to press a finger to his lips, to let him know he doesn’t need to talk, but it spills out of him anyway, “Since you pitched the Harvest Festival. Since you put your job on the line for Pawnee”  
  
How he gets the words out, Leslie doesn’t know, because they are moving faster now. The friction is unbearable. It is building inside of her, tightening and loosening her at the same time.  
  
It is amazingly hot to watch how you undo someone, Leslie decides. She watches it happen to him: the way his pupils dilate, the sweat on his brow, the guttural, rasping breath, and clasping hands. She is doing that to him. Her.  
  
“Leslie,” he can barely get her name out. He is stroking her with his thumb now, and on one final thrust, “Leslie, look at me. Now.”  
  
They go over together. Ben trembles. The wave inside Leslie crests. And she feels herself shooting outward in a million directions, every direction, unspooling and unraveling. It scares her because this has never happened before. It is too much, too intense. She feels her body shutting up, truncating the orgasm, and curling away from him.  
  
“Leslie,” he whispers her name.  
  
“Oh god,” she whimpers against closed eyes.  
  
“Leslie, finish for me,” he says, “finish.” And his thumb is there, stroking her so lightly it is like waving her hand over a flame. She can feel it but if she gets any closer she might be burned,“Let go and finish,” he hovers his lips over hers, “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
And that is what she needs.  
  
She lets herself go, relaxes her muscles, and lets him stroke her until she comes. Lets herself buck against his hand, grip his shoulders, and bury her face in his chest. She allows him to see her like that, completely exposed and needy, taking, clutching and desperate. And as she is coming down from it, her eyes still pressed so tight she sees stars, he captures her hand and kisses the ridge of every knuckle.  
  
***  
   
They lie there for a long time doing nothing but riding out the feeling. Feelings inside and outside, in her mind and her body. All of them jumbled together in a mess that she has no desire to untangle at the moment.  
  
“Were you really thinking about sex when I was pitching you the Harvest Festival?” She says with levity.  
  
Ben swipes her cheek with his thumb and says ruefully, “No, it wasn’t sex I’ve wanted since you pitched the Harvest Festival. It was you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Here is how Leslie Knope sleeps: like dead weight, like a bear in hibernation, like a rock. For someone with so much energy she doesn’t waste any when she sleeps. She is all arms and legs and blankets. She stretches out, buries in, and falls hard. It is a matter of pride that she can sleep through anything: storms, raccoon attack, and every alarm clock ever created. No, her body wakes itself up when it is ready: two hours, four, and sometimes even a whole six. But there are two things that will draw Leslie prematurely out of slumber: the sound of birds ( _Why do you think she has so many birdhouses?_ ) and men with adorable faces kissing the crook of her elbow.  
  
That is what Ben is doing now, trailing his lips up her arm to her shoulder. She can feel his warmth as he hovers over her and the dip in the mattress as he moves closer. He pauses to scan her face but Leslie keeps it passive, doesn’t open her eyes, and he returns to his ministrations. Leslie can feel his kisses all the way down to her toes. Everything is warm, pleasant, and perfect.  
  
“There is no way you are sleeping,” Ben mutters as he kisses the underside of her jaw.  
      
She laughs and rolls. He pulls and she ends up atop of him.  
  
“I knew you were awake,” he says as his hands run down the length of her body. They settle on her ass and nudges her hips over his.  
  
“Is there something you want?” she smiles and glances at the clock. It is 4 a.m.  
  
“Maybe,” Ben flexes his hips. She can feel him, half hard, and she teases him by arching in a wide circle.  
  
He gasps and she raises her eyebrows, “I just want it stated for the official record that you woke me up for sex.”  
  
“There is an official record?”  
  
“There is always a record.”  
  
Ben laughs and it rumbles in his chest. It is groggy from sleep and manly. If Leslie weren’t a feminist she would admit that all the testosterone: the stubble, deep chuckle, and wide,  _very_  capable hands that are trailing toward her center now…if she weren’t a feminist she would admit that it is all unbelievably hot. But she is a feminist so she will keep the thought to herself.  
  
“Do I need to beg?” He reaches out to stroke her, but Leslie tips her body just out of reach, rolls off him, and is thrilled when he automatically  follows.    
  
“That might help.” She plays it coy, but can’t help but sigh as Ben roots at her breast, pinches the nipple till it hardens, and then bends his head to suck. She closes her eyes and holds him there by threading her fingers through his hair. It is like they exist in a perfect bubble and she is in no hurry for that bubble to pop.  
  
“You know Penelope’s bed is on the other side of this wall,” Ben lifts his head and grins, “she did go out of her way to warn us not to be too loud.”  
  
Leslie’s eyes round, “Ben!”  
  
His face drops into a somber gaze and he says gravely, “You should probably know that I am a tiny bit evil,” and then his eye flick up to hers, “how about you?”  
  
Leslie’s laugh is muffled into the side of his neck. He gathers her close, arms wrapped around her waist, and pulls her back on top of him. This time she takes the length of him into her. It elicits a gasp and murmur of satisfaction from him. His thumbs hold her hips still and when Leslie looks into his eyes she is surprised by their intensity.  
  
“You’re in charge,” he says.  
  
Leslie presses up on her knees, drawing up his shaft, and comes down again. He groans and she looks at the wall.  
  
Leslie is not a prude, but she likes to keep her private life private. She isn’t showy in her sexual escapades. It all feels too personal to brag and strut around like a peacock. But Penelope has made her life is miserable. And if Leslie could brag to anyone? Yeah, it would be Penelope.  
  
“Say my name.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Leslie pulls up until just the tip of him is inside her, “Say my name. Loud.” And she jerks her head toward the wall.  
  
Ben’s eyes widen, “I wasn’t serious, Leslie. I just wanted sex.”  
  
“Well if you want sex then start talking and loudly cause that’s what it’s going to take.”  
  
Ben hesitates for the briefest second and Leslie lets up the rest of the way, lets him come out of her, and it works.  
  
“ _Oh, Leslie._ ”  
  
 _There we go._  She kisses him as a reward, falls onto her side next to him, and begins to pump him with her hand.  
  
“How does that feel?”  
  
“Good?”  
  
“That it?”  
  
“Really good?”  
  
“Come on. You can do better. What is it that you want?”  
  
“You. I want to be inside you.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Cause its so tight. And wet. And hot. Oh, god Leslie!”  
  
She replaces her hand with her mouth, kneels between his legs, and when she touches his legs they tremble. Something inside of her, something deeper than sex, turns upside down. Flips and flops in a new way that scare Leslie. But she pushes it away and focuses on right here, right now.  
  
She runs her tongue over the head. He groans and it isn’t quiet. She rubs her own legs together. She is turned on and ready. She moves over him, crawls really, and as she takes him into her, as he shudders her name, and as his hands clutch for her body, Leslie feels strong. She feels powerful and dangerous. It is intoxicating.  
  
“Tell me what’s happening,” She whispers in his ear, “I want to hear it.”  
  
“It…feels so… _god_. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Ben curses as they pick up the pace. He gripes Leslie so hard she is sure it will leave bruises. The bed squeaks underneath them, knocks once or twice against the wall, and Leslie has the fleeting hope it wakes Penelope up, “Oh, Leslie don’t stop. Don’t stop.”  
  
“I’m not going to.”  
  
It pops out. She’s never been a talker during sex, but she can’t leave him alone out there. She lets the words out as they move together.  
  
“Oh, god Ben.”  
  
“Leslie.”  
  
“I’m so close.”  
  
“Hold on. Keep going.  _Fuck_ , Leslie do you have any idea how good you feel?”  
  
“Touch me, Ben, touch me.”  
  
“There? Do you like that?”  
  
“I do. More.”  
  
“Go faster then.”  
  
“Please, Ben. Please.”  
  
“Faster, baby and I will….that’s my girl.  _Oh sweet holy Jesus_.”  
  
“Ben, I’m so close. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”  
  
“Leslie, god you are so hot. So unbelievably hot.”  
  
“Don’t stop.”  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“ _Fuck_.”  
  
“Leslie!”  
  
 _Yeah, Penelope definitely heard that._  
  
***  
  
 Sometime in the aftermath, Leslie curls up and exhales as Ben follows her. He settles his hands on her stomach, tugs her closer, and tangles their legs together.  
  
“Leslie, what are we doing?”  
  
She turns in his arms and looks up at him. She ruffles his hair, but it doesn’t distract him. He watches her and she thinks she is finally beginning to understand his face. He is earnest and a little bit nervous. It is in the eyes, she thinks. You’ve got to be able to read his eyes because the rest of his face parts might be saying one thing but his eyes will always betray the truth.  
  
“When you cooked for me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You said you’ve wanted me since I pitched the Harvest Festival. I’ve wanted you since you cooked for me.”  
  
His eyes skew sideways and then flicker back up to her gaze, “So the way to your heart is through your stomach?”  
  
“You’re learning, Benjamin. You’re learning.”  
  
***  
  
He falls asleep for another hour. Leslie tries to sleep. Really, she does.  
  
But she can’t.  
  
 _What are they doing?_  
  
She lies there, Ben’s arm draped over her stomach, and remembers what Jacks said to her.  
  
 _Ben doesn’t date._  
  
Then was this just sex? It didn’t feel like just sex. It felt big. Overwhelmingly big.  
  
  _It’s a policy he has cause he’s on the road all the time. Doesn’t think it would be fair to the girl. I don’t get it because it has to be damn lonely, but he’s stuck to it for twelve years. So you, you are significant._  
  
    But she wasn’t. They’d never been on a real date. Hadn’t ever even flirted. Not really at least. Ben was supposed to be a practice crush. He wasn’t supposed to matter. Not in-the-long-run type of way.  
  
    But he does. Even before tonight. He matters more than she’s let herself admit. She’s not sure what to do about it.  
  
    Because, like Jacks said, Ben doesn’t date.  
  
    ***  
  
    When Leslie wakes up Ben is about the leave the bed. She must have fallen asleep at some point and she feels the absence of his warmth. He stills when she rolls and they meet eyes.  
  
    “Hi.”  
  
    “Hi.”  
  
 _Where are you going?_  It is at the tip of her tongue, but she forces herself not to ask it. She forces herself to stay calm.  
  
    “I think everyone is awake,” He stands up, tugs on his boxers and a t-shirt.  
  
    Leslie blinks, “What time is it?”  
  
    “Eight.”  
  
    She jerks up.  
  
    “What?” He asks.  
      
    “I never sleep that late.”  
      
    “Well,” Ben searches for his jeans, “you were a little busy last night. Might have worn yourself out.” It’s deadpanned and Leslie frowns. She can’t read him. He’s let that barrier slip back down, covered himself, and left her out. She chews on her lip and watches him search through his bag for socks. He doesn’t look at her while he puts them on or tugs on his sneakers. He runs a hand over his face, sighs a little, and stands. He swings his arms, “We should probably go down there together.”  
  
    Leslie takes the sheet with her, covers herself as best she could as she finds clothes. Ben skews his eyes and paces by the door.  
  
 _Was this really happening?_  
  
    She isn’t sure what is going on until she feels him watching her as she digs for her watch. She looks over her shoulder and he has stopped moving. His chin is down, but his eyes are tipped up. She stills and they lock eyes again, like last night. But this time Ben breaks away, clears his throat, and goes back to pacing.  
  
    She hadn’t answered the question. That’s what happened. He asked what they were doing and she never answered the question.  
  
    Ben holds the door open for her and she passes by him with formless words on her lips. She doesn’t know what to say.  
  
  _I like you._  
  
  _I think you’re great._  
  
 _You don’t date women. You sleep with them or marry them._  
  
    Leslie has to remind herself as she goes downstairs, heads toward the kitchen, that she doesn’t know about the second one. She doesn’t know if he even wants that type of life. Maybe he likes being the bachelor, the lone wolf. Ben’s never actually told her what he wants.  
  
    “Um, we should probably like hold hands or something,” Ben catches her in the doorway of the kitchen. He says it low and looks past her when he does. Rubs the back of his neck.  
  
    And now Leslie is annoyed. He is treating her with kid gloves, as if she is some thoughtless woman for whom sex wouldn’t change anything, and he needs protection from her. Well. Screw. Him.  
  
    “Yeah or something,” she says and interlocks their fingers.  
  
    ***  
  
    If Leslie had thought about it she would have been more concerned about Ann reading every thought and feeling all over her face because Ann is like that. Ann is a beautiful, perceptive nurse and though her powers of perception have been temporary distracted by Chris the Tool doesn’t mean Leslie is in any less danger of being found. It takes Ann about thirteen seconds to narrow her eyes and train them on Leslie.  
  
    She should be giving Ben those scathing looks, but Ben isn’t her jurisdiction. Leslie is.  
  
    Everyone is in the kitchen. April sits on the counter eating a pop tart and Andy hovers near her, joyous to be in her good graces again. Chris sits next Penelope at the tiny table breakfast table. Across the table Ann watches him with a narrowed gaze as he attempts comfort Penelope who grips a coffee cup and looks up at Ben and Leslie with dangerous eyes.  
  
    Ben doesn’t let go of Leslie’s hand, but slows, leans against the counter, and wraps his arms around her waist. She stiffens, but he tightens his grip and she has no choice by to lean back against the length of him.  
  
    “What’s wrong with you?”  Ben jerks his head toward Penelope.  
  
    She narrows her eyes, “Something kept me up last night.”  
  
    “Must have been the storm.”  
  
    This is when Leslie is sure Ann figures it out because she sets down her coffee cup and crosses her arms.  
  
    But what Leslie didn’t anticipate is Jamie.  
  
    Jamie who is helping Ron cook eggs doesn’t take long to find out Ben. It must be a sibling thing, Leslie thinks, because her eyes do the same thing as Ann’s: narrow in on him and graze over her. And she settles in, directed at Ben and not her, with flared nostrils just like Ann. Seriously. there should be a club.  
  
    This doesn’t endear Leslie to Ben. His thumb absently strokes the band of Leslie’s jean, runs over the tender spot, where his hands gripped her last night as she rode him. She shifts, tabs away, and he lets her go.  
      
    “I’m going outside to get something from my car,” Leslie announces, fully expecting Ann to follow her, but it is Jamie who trails behind. Leslie gets all the way outside before she remembers vaguely that she didn’t drive to the cabin.  
  
    “You’re in love with my brother,” Jamie says as she steps off the porch.  
  
    “Do you know any other words?” Leslie whirls on her.  
  
    “What?”  
  
    “Can’t you say anything else?” she says, “I mean, I know he’s your brother but you don’t say things like that to a stranger.”  
  
    “I’m good at reading people,” Jamie crosses her arms.  
  
    “Like you were your client.”  
  
    It’s not a fair thing to say but Leslie isn’t feeling fair. She watches the effect of her words on Jamie. The girl ( _and Leslie can’t help but be struck by how young Ben’s sister is_ ) seizes up, hugs her stomach, and looks at the ground.  
  
    “I’m sorry,” Leslie sighs, “I have no right to say that.”  
  
    “No, you do,” Jamie tugs on her braid, pulls it over her shoulder, and threads her fingers through the ends of it. She looks so small and fidgety, like a tiny bird, that Leslie wants to gather her up and take her to JJ’s for waffles. The girl’s eyes brim with tears.  
  
    “Don’t cry. Not over a guy,” Leslie says. She takes a half step toward her, to hug her, but stops.  
  
    Jamie nods, kind of smiles, and presses her palms to her eyes, “I’m not the kind of girl who cries over guys.”  
  
    “Except for one, right?”  
  
    “Yeah,” she exhales, “Ohhhh my brother would kill me right now.”  
  
    “Ben? I don’t think so.”  
  
    “No, Bartlett. He’d tell me to buck up and go home. Face the music.”  
  
    “Oh,” Leslie shifts, “what about Ben?”  
  
    Jamie smiles, “Ben made me tea and put on  _Three Men and a Baby_. He brought me here this weekend because he didn’t want to leave you in a lurch with Penelope.”  
  
    “Wait, he owns  _Three Men and a Baby_?”  
  
    “He’s a big Tom Selleck fan,” Jamie explains and then says, “But you know he hasn’t offered me one piece of advice the entire time. ”  
  
    “Why not?”  
  
    Jamie smiles one of those trailing smiles, the ones of deep and endless affection, and shrugs, “Cause he knows I know it all already. That I know all the right answers, but that the right answers don’t matter. Sometimes things just happen. Even to people who know all the answers. Sometimes you get impeached. Get divorced or fall in love with your client.”  
  
    Leslie, who had been thinking and let her gaze wander away from Jamie, focuses in.  
  
    “Our mother has a great deal of pride,” Jamie says, “and the fact that our father left her has never been something she’s quite gotten over. It just causes her to bear down harder. Bartlett is a lot like her. I am a lot like her.”  
  
    “And Ben?”  
  
    “Ben was a lot like her and then Ice Town happened. And Leslie,” Jamie waits until Leslie looks at her, “you should know something about my brother. There are people he likes and there are people he admires. Those are two very different categories in Ben’s head. Ice Town humbled him and it taught him a lot about people - of how much ego and pride can get in the way - and while he likes a lot of people, he doesn’t necessarily admire them,” the affection for her brother is obvious in her voice and it tugs a smile out of Leslie, “He’s a pretty self-sufficient guy. He doesn’t have a lot of needs in order to be happy and content with his life. I think it’s why he’s been single for so long. He’s not desperate to get anywhere and he isn’t just looking for someone he likes. He’s looking for someone he admires. But even then,” and she leans forward a little, “even when he finds her he’s not going to assume she needs him telling her what to do. He thinks too highly of her to do that.”  
  
    ***  
  
    Leslie waits until everyone is packed and the cabin is cleaned up. It is a Monday and while everyone else is on furlough, Ben, Chris, and Ann have to get back to work. Leslie hugs her best friend sometime in the midst of the packing, a silent  _We’ll talk_  and is thankful to Ann when they turns out to be enough.  
  
    Penelope skewers her with looks, but Leslie doesn’t care. She grins and swings her arms.  
  
    Ben gives her a wide berth, stays near Jamie, and doesn’t even trail his eyes over her back. She lets him have the space. Tries to find her words and order them in her head.  
  
    When it is time to leave Andy is talking to April about JJ’s and Leslie almost asks to come along, but stops herself. Even waffles can wait.  
  
    “Hey Ann,” Leslie calls out as people start to climb into their cars, “could you drop Jamie off at the hotel? Ben and I are going to go for a drive.”  
      
    Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Jamie is already up and out of the passenger seat of his Saturn.  
  
    “See you tonight for dinner!” she calls out to her brother. Ann waves to Leslie and -  _bless her_  - doesn’t say anything else.  
  
    Ben just stands there, leaning against the open door of his car as people pull away. Leslie waves as Andy honks his horn.  
  
    “Where do you want me to take you?” He finally says.  
  
    Leslie has to shield her eyes from the sun which hovers above Ben’s shoulder, “Remember that park we went to on our first non-date?”  
  
    ***  
  
    They don’t talk in the car. Ben turns on NPR and Leslie relaxes into the seat. The ride over reminds her of their drive back from Indianapolis. She rolls her ankle in remembrance and sighs. She should have known it would be impossible to have just a crush on Ben Wyatt.  
  
    They get there and Leslie waits for Ben to round the car, to open the door for her. She still isn’t comfortable with it entirely, thinks it impractical, but likes that he does it even though they aren’t speaking.  
  
    Leslie leads them to the bench they sat on, the one that overlooks the golf course. He sits down, but Leslie can’t stay seated. She stands up and paces.  
  
    “Ann needs to dump Chris.”  
  
    “You brought me here to talk about Ann?” he looks surprised.  
  
    “No,” she presses a hand to her temple, “Ann needs to dump Chris and I really like your sister. I think she’s great.”  
  
    “Um, thanks?”  
  
    “And being on furlough is driving me crazy. I can’t sleep at night. And sometimes I have really great ideas about the Harvest Festival and I don’t call you right away because I think I might sound too excited and you’ll not take me seriously, but that’s stupid because if it is a great idea why shouldn’t I be excited about it, right?”  
  
    “Leslie.”  
  
    “No, let me get this out. I lied too.”  
  
    “About what?”  
  
    “About when I wanted you.”  
  
    “Okay,” he looks down and for a split second Leslie thinks he closes his eyes to brace himself for something.  
  
    She exhales, “I don’t know exactly when I first wanted you, but it was before that night in Indianapolis. It was way before that but I don’t know when it happened and I don’t know what it means,” she takes a deep breath, “I just know that I want to talk to you about Ann and not ironically. I want to talk to you about how my best friend, my wonderful, beautiful best friend, is dating a tool. And I want to hang out with your sister. I want to call you at 3 a.m. excited about my idea about the Harvest Festival because I know you’ll be excited too.”  
  
    “I’d like that.”  
  
    “And I know you don’t date and I don’t know what this is because we didn’t do it right and sometimes I think you might not even like me…,” she stops, “Wait, what?”  
  
    Ben looks up at her, “I’d like that. And I would take you seriously Leslie. I may not agree with you all the time, but I’ve always taken you seriously.”  
  
    She can’t help it. She smiles.  
  
    Ben stands up, crosses, and stops just out of arm’s length.  
  
    Leslie lifts her chin, “You asked me last night what we were doing.”  
  
    “Yeah?”  
  
    And she can read it in his eyes: the hope and earnestness. Leslie decides that Jamie stopped short in her speech about her brother. There may be two categories of people in Ben’s head, but there were also two Ben’s. There was the outside Ben: state auditor, smart, professional but also sarcastic and aloof, but there was the inside Ben too: the one who talked to himself while making her dinner, who inexplicably was friends with Jacks, and whose his baby sister made speeches about him. That Ben was open, totally there, and a tiny bit hopeful. He was the remnants of the Ben who got elected at 18. He was the guy who kissed Leslie last night. That Ben was hard to get too. He was reserved for only a few people, but might be the best man she knew.  
  
    “You asked me what we were doing,” Leslie chews her lip, “and I was wondering if you would let me take you out on a date.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dating Ben, Leslie decides, is like one of those montages in the movies. It is clips of smiles and cuddling and romance set to some peppy song Leslie hums when she has had too much sugar. But that is for the movies. Surely real life will intersect soon. Right?  
  
Not that she is asking for it. She is fine putting off the weird flossing habits and meeting parents. She will take this bubble she's stumbled into. She's not complaining. She's just not sure she can believe it.  
  
See he does this thing with his thumbs...not  _that_ , though  _that_  is very good. Verrrrry good.  
  
See, he plays thumb war with her. She doesn't know who started it, but when their hands are linked, idly, he'll drag his thumb back and forth across her own and that begins the count down to an epic battle. Neither of them has any compunction about outright cheating. He'll twist her arm and she'll sit on him just to capture his thumb beneath hers. And neither of them is a gracious winner either. They'll both strut and preen and generally gloat. The loser lobs insults and pouts until the other promises to make it up to them. And that always leads to other things with hands and shouts and sometimes sighs.  
  
But that is fine because in the making up they both win because underneath all of it is a current of laughter that draws Leslie’s smile and causes Ben’s eyes to crinkle. They don't make up in public of course, but later in the privacy of her living room or her kitchen or once even on the stairs. It doesn't keep them from playing under tables and in the car and every place they are together. It is fun. Ben sneaks his hand to her's and does that thing where he drags his thumb across hers and they are off again.  
  
***  
  
On their second date he takes her to a candy shop in Indianapolis, one of those old fashioned ones with the bins and big metal scoops. It is after hours and somehow he arranges for them to have it all to themselves. He brings a blanket and a bottle of champagne. They sat cross legged and eat all of it: cherry sours, caramel creams, licorice, moon pies, and of course cotton candy and swap stories from childhood, sweet ones to go along with the candy. They fill up bags to take home to their friends: pixie sticks for April, ring pops for Donna, a wax mustache for Ron, sugar daddies for Tom, something with nuts in it for Chris, a whirly rainbow lolly pop for Andy, and for Ann Swedish fish. And when they let themselves out sometime after midnight he presses her against the door and kisses her in the lamp light as cars whiz by like fireflies in the night.  
  
***  
  
Jamie half-moves into Ben’s apartment in Indianapolis and he begins to spend weekends at Leslie’s. To be honest, he spends most evenings there too. With Ann high on Chris and most of her department scattered for summer it is easy for Leslie to settle into a life with Ben.  
  
Her days are split between some of her long neglected hobbies: metal work, baking, and reading and doing what work she can while on furlough. There are the idea binders, which sometimes she reads to Ben over dinner, and their plans for the Harvest Festival. There are the ad hoc rec classes she organized out of her house whenever she can find volunteers to teach them.  
  
And then there is the park maintenance. She knows she isn’t supposed to be in the parks. They are closed. But it kills her to see them neglected. To see the sandboxes choked with weeds and garbage cans tipped over by teenagers. Parks were meant to be played in. They should be gathering places and Leslie isn’t going to let them fall apart on her watch. Even if she has to do it all on her own.  
  
“I’m not saying this as the state auditor. I’m saying this as your boyfriend,” Ben says one evening, “I don’t like you wandering around the parks after sunset by yourself cleaning up garbage.”  
  
Leslie looks up from her book, “Why?”  
  
“It’s not safe.”  
  
“I take a taser. I’m fine,” she says and finds her spot on the page again.    
  
Ben sighs, “I still don’t like it.”  
  
She glances up. He isn’t looking at her; he picks up his own book but keeps shifting, trying to find a comfortable position. She watches him. She can almost feel the words he’s biting back.  
  
“Just say it,” she says.  
  
“Worrying about you does not make me a misogynist.”  
  
“I didn’t say it did.”  
  
“But you’re not going to stop.”  
  
“Why would I?”  
  
Ben closes his eyes briefly, “Because it isn’t safe. Because I’m asking you too.”  
  
She narrows her eyes, “I think you’re overreacting. I’m fine really. There is hardly anyone in the parks after dark. Just some teenagers and homeless people.”  
  
“And you’re out there alone. I don’t like it.”  
  
“Ben, this is Pawnee not Indianapolis.”  
  
“But can’t you go during the day?”  
  
“There are too many raccoons. They take to the streets to hunt once the sun goes down.”  
  
Ben sets his book aside and sits forward, grips her hands in his own, “Ask me to go with you.”  
  
“What? It’s not your job.”  
  
“It’s not yours either.”  
  
“Yes it is.”  
  
“Then ask me to go with you. Let me help you.”  
  
She shifts, looks down, “But you think it’s ridiculous.”  
  
“What I think,” he cups her face and draws her chin up until their eyes meet, “is that you are amazing for working so hard. Now ask me to go with you. It’ll help me not to worry.”  
  
She tips her forehead to his, closes her eyes, and breathes, “I like you so much.”  
  
***  
It isn’t all grand gestures though.  
  
He leaves post its for her, notes and the occasional quote, pasted on the fridge, in her binders, and tucked into the book she is reading. She lines them up on her dining room table which she’s turned into a makeshift office and looks at them more often than is healthy. Smiles and traces her finger over his hand writing.  
  
He brings groceries over with him every evening after work, kisses her on the forehead, and flips on NPR while he cooks like it normative, routine.  
  
And he twirls her in the kitchen that one time, off beat, but dips her with sure and steady arms before kissing her until dinner burned.  
  
It is the small things: how he pulls her feet into his lap when they watch television and ducks his head boyishly when she compliments him.  
  
It’s not the romance or the kindness that steals Leslie’s breath. It is him. That someone like him exists.  
  
***  
  
Once a week they drive to Indianapolis to see Jamie and catch dinner with Jacks.  
  
Sometimes Ben’s sister joins them, orders herself a glass of wine, and pastes on a smile. Everyone can see, though, that she’s unhappy. The smiles never reach her eyes.  
  
Jacks does his best to cheer her up. He regales Leslie with a litany of embarrassing Ben stories, knocks Jamie’s elbow, and tries to get her to add her own from Ben’s childhood. For an evening it works. They take turns telling stories and Leslie laughs till she tears up. She glances across the table to see Jamie laughing, really laughing, and Ben watching his little sister with a quiet hope.  
  
And it strikes Leslie that this is his life: his best friend and his sister. He has a career and dreams and none of that is in Pawnee. She wrings her hands under the table and for a moment becomes the one who pastes on the smile, unsure, suddenly, what it is they are doing.  
  
***  
  
“And then she texted me and canceled. I had already ordered her a drink. Said she was too tired from her shift and she was just going to go home.” Leslie says through a mouthful of tooth paste. She spits and runs the water.  
  
“Maybe she really was tired,” Ben says from the bedroom. Leslie leans on the door jamb. He is sitting on the side of the bed taking off his shoes. Sometimes Ben wears his shoes all evening. It’s weird.  
  
“She just wanted to have sex with Chris,” Leslie mumbles and drops down beside him. She leans against him and he hooks an arm around her waist.  
  
“You don’t know that.”  
  
“I do,” Leslie is emphatic, “I’ve been replaced by a walking GNC,” She makes her sad face at Ben and it tugs a smile out of him. He kisses the top of her head and pulls her back onto the bed with him. They lie there on their sides, arms and legs entwined.  
  
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “I don’t think that’s true. You just need to tell her how you feel.”  
  
“That I think her boyfriend is a tool?”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“Don’t you?”  
  
“He’s okay,” Ben shrugs, “Chris isn’t a terrible guy, but they’re terrible together. She just becomes a female version of him and Chris just gets away with being Chris. It’s not good for him not to have a check to balance him out.”  
  
She surveys him for a second, “Jacks was right. You really are indulgent, aren’t you.”  
  
Ben raises his eyebrows, “Only toward people I could give or take. For the people who count,” he kisses her neck right above her pulse, “who matter I’m kind of particular. I have only the highest standards,” his knuckles skim the edge of her t-shirt, tug it up, “they have to have pretty blond hair and have read a shocking number of political biographies.”  
  
Leslie chuckles and almost lets herself sigh into him, let their hands explore, and forget about Ann for the evening, but she can’t. It hurts deep down inside somewhere that just plain makes her sad.  
  
“Ben?”  
  
“Mmmm?” He’s still buried in her neck.  
  
“I don’t know what to do. I miss her, but that girl isn’t my Ann.”  
  
He sighs, “Then you should talk to her.”  
  
“But what if she hates me?”  
  
“She won’t hate me.”  
  
“She really likes Chris.”  
  
“And she loves you,” Ben says, “I’m not saying its going to be easy, but you owe it to her to be honest about how you feel.”  
  
“Like she’s been about you?”  
  
“Yes,” Ben pulls her up and they crawl under the covers still fully clothed. He leans on an elbow and his expression gets very serious, “Leslie, Ann’s not crazy to be wary of me.”  
  
Leslie frowns, “You aren’t a serial killer are you?”  
  
“No,” he laughs, “but our lives aren’t really compatible. You love Pawnee and I…,” he exhales, “even if I get this promotion at the end of the summer I’m going to be in Indianapolis for the foreseeable future.”  
  
“Indianapolis isn’t that far away,” Leslie kisses him quickly trying to lighten the mood. She doesn’t want to talk about it yet. Doesn’t want to face what they both know.  
  
“Yeah,” he gives a half-hearted smile, “it’s not. You’re right.”  
  
And the topic is dropped, delicately, but later as she falls asleep Leslie knows what he didn’t say, the sentence he didn’t finish. Indianapolis isn’t that far away if they’re casually dating, if they are alright with weekends and the occasional dinner date. But if this was more than that, if it was once upon a time and happily ever after then they had a problem.  
  
***  
  
“You eat a lot of soup,” Leslie notes one night.  
  
Ben stops mid-bite, “So?”  
  
“I’m just saying you really love soup. Just a fact.”  
  
“And you love waffles.”  
  
“There is no need to get defensive. I’m just saying you love soup.”  
  
“I’m not defensive.”  
  
“You sound defensive.”  
  
“I don’t get what we’re talking about.”  
  
“Soup.”  
  
***  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re staring again.”  
  
“It’s just interesting.”  
  
“It’s weird.”  
  
“No it’s not. It’s like a button when it’s not you know...”  
  
Ben sits up on one elbow, “Say it.”  
  
“No. It’s crass.”  
  
“But staring at it is normal? Say it.”  
  
Leslie toys with the blanket, but Ben silently dips his head and she mumbles it, “Penis.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“It’s like a slinky. I just want to play with it.”  
  
“Oh my god.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie doesn’t pretend to be a curator of music. She has her lady songs and her sound track to  _Air Force One_. Her standard for a good song is one she can sing along too. She is content to listen to those on repeat. One night she’s got the greats on: Whitney, Mariah, and Celine. Ben comes home from work, lets himself in the back door and catches her singing as she organizes the next summer’s recreation class catalog at her dining room table.  
  
“Wait, have I heard this one before?” he says from the kitchen door.  
  
Leslie doesn’t bother to look up, “Wait, don’t you have a wee wee?”  
  
“That’s not funny,” he mutters and goes to start dinner.  
  
***  
  
For the 4th, Jamie and Jacks drive down to Pawnee. Even Ben and Chris aren’t stupid enough to deny the town their fireworks and they set money aside for a modest display in Rammsett Park. Leslie and Ben stake out the top of the hill for the best vantage point for fireworks. Everyone comes and they grill out. Other than Ann turning up her nose at a hotdog ( _all those fillers, Leslie_ ) the evening could not have gone off better. Tom hits on Jamie to the point that Leslie is afraid Ben might take a swing, but he assures her that he taught Jamie well once she hit puberty on how to throw a punch.  
  
And Jacks! Jacks, bless him, is a saint. He talks football with Andy, music with April ( _apparently they share a passion for something called Nature’s Milk Hotel_ ), and impresses Tom with his knowledge of suit cuts.  
  
But he wins Leslie over completely when he talks to Ann. She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop of course, but she stands behind them in line for food and listens as he told Ann about his sister who has severe downs syndrome. They get into an impassioned discussion about health care for people with disabilities and Leslie watches with a smile as Ann ignores everyone, even Chris, to talk about something other than exercise.  
  
“You didn’t tell me about Jacks’ sister,” Leslie comes up alongside Ben.  
  
“Candace? Yeah, their parents are both gone. He stays near Indianapolis cause she lives in a group home there.”  
  
“It sounds like he really loves her.”  
  
“Of course he does.”  
  
“Just the way he talks about women sometimes,” Leslie bites her lip, “I just didn’t expect this side of him too.”  
  
Ben laces his fingers through her own and says with that look he gets sometimes, one of frank admiration, “Not all of us have your ability to be all of ourselves in every situation.”  
  
And when it comes time for the fireworks, Leslie is happily nestled between Ben’s legs, his arms around her, and her head in the crook of his neck. Everyone else watches the burst of light and color above them, but Leslie watches the faces of her friends instead. There is April who sits very close to Andy and almost wears a smile as she watches him and there is Ron who begrudgingly admits this is a good use of the tax payer’s money. Despite this furlough her department hasn’t fallen apart. And she looks out at the families clustered on blankets, the teenagers grouped together, and something in her wells up. She is happy in that moment, like a long note, it holds and swells until she can feel it reverberate in her marrow. Ben’s arms tighten around her and she kisses his cheeks.  
  
He looks down, “What’s that for?”  
  
“For being you.”  
  
***  
  
After the celebration, Leslie helps Jamie tote chairs and blankets and leftovers back to their cars. She leaves Ben’s sister to load it up and heads back to help Ben and Jacks, the only two left, with the coolers. She stops behind a tree, just to observe them together as they dump out the ice.  
  
“You know Penelope still thinks you guys aren’t really dating. Says she’s going to stop you from getting that promotion.”  
  
Ben straightens, “I know.”  
  
“You know it’s got nothing to do with Leslie, right?” Jacks says low, ducks his chin, “that its cause she wants the job. She knows if you apply you’ll get it over her. You have more direct experience.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And I know you and Leslie were pretending to date that first time I met her. Figured it out the minute she showed up at that picnic. Penelope couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut. ”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Jacks surveys his friend and whistles, “You’ve known from the beginning that the whole pretend dating thing wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Didn’t you?”  
  
Ben’s eyes dart to Jacks face and Leslie holds her breath as she sees their profiles against the moonlight. He picks up a stick and chucks it down the hill, “Might have.”  
  
Jacks nods. His voice drops, “Damn.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
***  
  
The confession, and really it wasn’t a confession because he hadn’t told her, might have bowed Leslie if Jamie hadn’t come up behind her calling Ben’s name.  
  
All of them turn, Ben and Jacks, and Leslie comes out from behind the tree though she doesn’t think they notice the place where she appears from because everyone is looking at Jamie.  
  
“Ben,” Jamie gulps air to catch her breath, “it’s Mom. She just called. She’s at your hotel.”


	10. Chapter 10

They go to see Ben’s mother - her name is Diane - but Leslie only learns to call her that after she becomes friends with Jamie. For now she is just Ben’s mother.  
  
  
Everyone is unusually quiet in the car. Leslie looks around. In the driver’s seat, Ben stares ahead at the road and in the back Jamie fists her hands in her lap. Next to her is Jacks and Leslie meets his eye as she twists in the passenger seat. She wishes she could ask him why the somberness. Why the quiet? The apprehension? She looks at Ben’s profile, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s retreated to some other place.  
  
 She doesn’t get it. From the way Ben talks about his mother it is obvious that he admires her and loves her. She recalls what Jamie said - that their mother could be hard. She prided herself on her strength. It is why Jamie hadn’t gone back to Partridge when she was suspended from her job. She turned to Ben because he was safe. He’s failed before, fallen down and gotten back up. He would understand.  
  
Leslie bites down on her lip. She wants so badly to reach across and find his hand. She wants him to drag his thumb across hers, to play a slow and silent game just to break the levity. A levity she doesn’t understand.  
  
But the confession - his confession not to her but to Jacks - what was that?  
  
She replays it in her mind. It never made sense to Leslie why Penelope would care so much who Ben was dating. Once it was obvious he wasn’t interested, why continue? And if Ben knew the whole time that it didn’t make a difference whether Penelope believed them or not, why agree to the ruse in the first place?    
  
 _“You’ve known from the beginning that the whole pretend dating thing wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Didn’t you?”  
   
“Might have.”  
  
“Damn.”  
  
“I know.”_  
  
The exchange rolls over in her mind once, twice, and a third time before it sinks in. Until the ball drops into the hole and Leslie gets it.  
  
 _He loves her._  
  
Ben Wyatt is in love with her. He agreed to all it just to…get to know her?  
  
Leslie trembles. He’s not just in love with her. He love loves her. Like happily ever after loves her. That sentence he said that night at his apartment,  _“I’m ready to get off the road and you know…,”_  she is the end of that sentence.  
  
Her. Leslie Knope.  
  
This doesn’t astound her. It doesn’t astonish or shock her. Or even surprise her. It humbles her a little and scares her, but mostly it makes her want to laugh.  
  
And she does laugh. She lets loose a laugh that wells from somewhere deep, deep inside of her. It comes out as a hiccup and a few gulps. She covers her mouth and looks out the window.  
  
“Leslie, you okay?” Ben’s voice is tentative. Jacks and Jamie look at her.  
  
If they had been alone Leslie might have said something. Might have explained the two and two she just put together. But she doesn’t.  
  
“Air just went down the wrong pipe.” She coughs a little and knocks on her breast bone. He studies her and she coughs one more time for effect. He frowns, but turns away and pays attention as he exits off the freeway to pull into the parking lot of the Pawnee Super Suites Motel.  
  
As everyone else is getting out of the car Leslie takes a moment to herself. She presses her palms to her eyes and tells her heart, which pounds in her ears, to keep quiet. It will have to wait. In the mean time it is time to meet Ben’s mother.  
  
***  
  
Leslie hangs back with Jack as Ben tugs his sister toward what Leslie assumes is their mother’s car. He knocks on the window and Leslie exhales when his mother steps out with a smile on her face. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.  
  
Diane Wyatt is a slim, extremely attractive woman with thick brown hair and a smart pair of glasses. Leslie could see where Ben had inherited his nose. She envelops him in a hug, “Oh, Ben I’ve missed you so much!”  
  
Leslie looks at Jacks to share a smile, but while he exhales he still looks apprehensive.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Leslie says under her breath.  
  
Jacks keeps his eyes on the family, “Wait for it…one, two, three.”  
  
Ben picks his mother up and spins her in the hug. As he releases her, her eyes land on them in the distance.  
  
“Jack! Always there, aren’t you?” she waves, but there is a catch in her voice that causes Leslie to frown. She looks at Leslie, “Hello.”  
  
The greeting is thin, like a shard of glass, and something in Leslie’s stomach drops.  
  
Ben doesn’t seem to notice, “Mom,” he lets go of his mother and crosses to Leslie, interlocks their fingers, “I want you to meet my girlfriend, Leslie Knope.” He says it proudly and Leslie licks her lips. She watches Ben’s mother’s face and while it is slight she catches the way the woman’s jaw drops a little.  
  
You’d think Leslie would be great with parents. She’s articulate and clean. Isn’t that what Marlene always said parents looked for in a child’s partner? But the thing is that Leslie isn’t great with parents. Well, it’s more she’s kind of out of practice. When you don’t get past the first date you don’t meet a lot of parents. Dave’s father had moved to Florida so Leslie never got to meet him. In fact, Leslie’s pretty sure she hasn’t met a parent since high school.  
  
“Hello,” Leslie smiles, “it’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
  
“That’s funny,” Diane Wyatt laughs, “cause Ben really hasn’t told me that much about you. I’m so sorry about that. I’ll have to admonish him later. Tell me again your last name. How do you spell it?”  
  
Jacks mutters something behind them and Leslie wishes she could kick him. She wishes she could roll her eyes like Jamie is doing or communicate with Ben, who is grinning stupidly like they were all as happy to be there as he is.  
  
“K-n-o-p-e. Knope,” Leslie says.  
  
“How cute…it’s a homophone. Like Leslie…nope. As in not going to happen,” she laughs.  
  
“Mother!” Jamie glares.  
  
“What? I doubt I’m the first person to have ever pointed that out to her?” Diane Wyatt shrugs and smiles, “Now, Leslie what do you do?”  
  
“Leslie works for the Parks Department here in Pawnee,” Ben says it before Leslie can. He says it proudly, but Leslie is annoyed that he spoke for her. She bites down on her bottom lip and forces a smile.  
  
“You must have an awful hard job then - what with all the raccoons? I saw a whole parade of them while I was sitting here waiting for my children. I’m sure cleaning them up off the highways is a terrible part of your day.”  
  
“That would be the Sanitation Department, actually.”  
  
“Mom, Leslie runs her department,” Ben runs a hand up and down Leslie’s back, “She’ll have to tell you about Camp Athena. You’d love what she did.”  
  
“I’m sure I would,” she clasps her hands together and sighs, “but for right now I just want to get settled and spend some time with my children.” She glances at Leslie and Jacks, “Goodnight. Nice to meet you. And Jack, good to see you like always.”  
  
“It’s still Jacks,” he says and starts to back away, points to Ben, “I’ll call you next week. I’m heading back to Indy.”  
  
Jamie steps forward, “I thought you were going to crash here with me?”  
  
He shrugs, “I don’t want to intrude. I’m sure you want the time with your mother. Call me when you get back to Indy.”  
  
And before anyone can say anything he’s gone. His taillights mocking Leslie against the night as he escapes.  
  
“This is so great,” Ben grins, “my favorite women all in one place. Should we eat?”  
  
***  
  
Obviously Ben didn’t catch the part where Diane had dismissed Leslie because he talks all of them to going to JJ’s for a late meal. At first glance of the diner, Diane blanches.  
  
Jamie rolls her eyes and snorts, “Not quite Evanston’s, Mom?”  
  
Leslie doesn’t know the reference, but she gets it. The mismatched placemats and worn out plastic booths aren’t up to some Diane Wyatt standard. Well, Leslie doesn’t care. She is going to get through this night, go home, and have a very long conversation with Ben about his mother. And then in the morning she wouldn’t think of any of it. She would think only about Ben’s confession, what it meant, and what the hell she was supposed to do with it.  
  
“Four,” Ben comes in from parking the car and waves to the hostess. His hand trails across Leslie’s back and she forces herself to smile at him.  
  
They are seated in a booth - her and Ben on one side, Jamie and their mother on the other. Diane sits up very still and for the first time Leslie notices she is wearing a power suit. Who travels to see her children in a power suit?  
  
“Your usual, Leslie?” the waitress, Betsy, asks.  
  
“You have a usual?” Diane picks up the menu, “interesting.”  
  
“If you could just give us a minute,” Ben asks the waitress before leaning over the table, “Mom, you should try the calzone here. It’s really good.”  
  
“I’ll never understand your affinity for calzones. They’re terrible, Ben. Hard to eat.”  
  
Ben laughs, “Leslie says the same thing.”  
  
Leslie has never wished more that she could take anything back in her life. Diane must share the sentiment because she smiles faintly and turns back to her menu.  
  
Leslie waits while everyone else decides what to order. She swallows hard and reminds herself that Ben is just excited for her to meet his mother. She must be a lovely woman, Leslie tries to tell herself, when she’s not irritable from a long day in the car. She probably just wants time with just her children in order talk to Jamie - that’s why she is here, isn’t it? To face Jamie about how she is hiding from her life? Surely that had to be the reason to drive eight hours?  
  
Diane lays aside her menu, “So Leslie how long have you been dating my son?”  
  
“Um,” Leslie jerks her head a little, looks at Ben. They’d never really talked about them. About when they’d started or where they were going.  
  
Ben laughs nervously for the first time all night, “That’s kind of a funny story.”  
  
The waitress returns with waters and takes their order. Diane takes a sip, “I love funny stories,” she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes, “It must be exciting cause Ben hasn’t dated a girl, not seriously, for what? Months?”  
  
“Years,” Jamie says, “And that makes Leslie very special.”  
  
Leslie doesn’t know what Jamie is doing. She looks like someone resigned, someone waiting for a stiff drink.  
  
“She is special,” Ben looks at Leslie and her stomach turns over.  
  
She loves it when he looks at her like that, the warmth that reaches his eyes. It darkens the already deep brown and does something to Leslie, turns her over on the inside. Catches her breath and steals her from herself.  
  
She can’t think of any other way to describe what happens to her right then as she looks at him look at her while his mother and sister watch. It is like water running through fingers. She loses it. He is looking at her with all this pride and admiration and Leslie finds herself gone.  
  
Not in a romantic way either. In the paralyzing, scared as shit way.  
  
Like she got all the way here and just now stopped to think about what it is that she is doing.  
  
***  
  
Ben talks. Diane pretends to listen and Leslie grips the table. Jamie nurses a beer and then a second.  
  
Ben talks about Pawnee and their summer. He bypasses Penelope and the fake dating - opts to fill his mother in on their plans for the Harvest Festival.  
  
“But Ben that isn’t your job, is it?” Diane says at one point.  
  
He smiles shyly, “I know it isn’t but we’re doing it together. It was Leslie’s idea. And I think it will be great for Pawnee. After months of budget cut headlines it’ll give people something to look forward too.”  
  
Diane frowns and Leslie wishes she could slip beneath the table, pool away.  
  
“Do you think Ben should be doing something better with his time, Mother?” Jamie tips back her bottle. Eyes her mother and Diane glares at her daughter.  
  
“Is there something you are trying to say Jamie?”  
  
“Nope. I’m sure you’ll say plenty once Leslie leaves.”  
  
Diane puts down her silverware, “Now what is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I mean you’re too polite to talk about why you’re really here. No offense Ben, but I don’t think it is to see you. She came to collect her out-of-control daughter.”  
  
Diane holds two fingers up, “Jamie, don’t forget your manners. We can talk about you another time,” she smiles at Ben who looks very confused, “right now I want to hear about you, darling.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Ben addresses his sister directly. When she doesn’t answer him he reaches across the table and gently touches the inside of her wrist, “Jamie?”  
  
“She got fired,” Diane says. Her mouth is in a thin line, “She was fired last week.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“My boss called me a couple days ago.”  
  
“Fired from Legal Aid,” Diane laughs, “Do you know what kind of trouble to get fired from Legal Aid?”  
  
“The kind where you sleep with your client and convince him to not plead out because you believe he is innocent,” Jamie sinks down into the booth. She looks miserable.  
  
“But he wasn’t,” Diane turns her body toward her daughter, “you fell in love with a man who held up a convenience store, Jamie. A man with no job, no high school education, and whose list of priors made the hair on my neck stand up when Jim read it to me.”  
  
“Who is Jim?” Ben blusters.  
  
“Her boss and my friend. The person who did me a favor when my idealistic daughter wanted to change the world right out of law school. He took her in and promised me he’d keep her safe. I promised him she wouldn’t be any trouble.”  
  
“But why did you get fired?” Ben stares wildly between his mother and sister.  
  
But Leslie is watching Jamie. She trembles and casts her eyes downward. Leslie doesn’t understand why she doesn’t stand up for herself. Why if she thought she had done something wrong for the right reasons then she needed to say something. But Jamie isn’t standing up. She is wilting right before Leslie’s eyes. Curling up and sinking further down into the booth.  
  
“She got fired because she tried to bribe the judge.”  
  
“What?” Ben hisses.  
  
“She realized after the jury adjourned that her lover had no chance so she went to the judge and tried to seduce him,” Diane says it low across the table.  
  
“Jamie, is this true?”  
  
“I don’t know how this man talked her into this,” Diane shakes her head, looks at Leslie as if confessing, “I mean it had to have been his idea. How else would this happen? My daughter and a convict? I’ve never seen stranger bedfellows.”  
  
Leslie wants to reach across the table and shake Diane Wyatt. Beside her Jamie has given up all pretense of composure. She is, what Ann would term, ugly crying. The red nosed, hacked  blubbering that earned women Oscars. Total and complete coming undone.  
  
And Ben just stares wildly. He has gone white as a sheet, “Jamie, is this true?”  
  
“Yes,” Jamie hiccups, “it is.”  
  
Ben swallows and his voice drops, “You tried to seduce a judge?”  
  
She can’t get the word out this time, just nods and rocks in her seat. Diane sits up straight, palms on the table, shaking her head.  
  
“Ben,” Leslie tries. Someone needs to do something - move to put an arm around the girl, get her home, and let it wait until morning. She touches his arm but he flinches.  
  
“I need air,” he mutters. Leslie moves because he is already moving, scooting out of the booth. She gets out of the way as he puts his head down and heads out of JJ’s.  
  
She hesitates. Jamie is still hunched over, crying into her hands, and Diane has moved to run a hand up and down her daughter’s back. The girl ignores the ministrations, but Diane isn’t doing them for her but for herself. She keeps glancing around the restaurant, which is only populated by truck drivers and a smattering of teenagers ( _Leslie may spy Greg Pikitas laughing at her but she can’t afford to get distracted right now_ ), and saying too loudly, “Now, now sweetheart…”  
  
No, Leslie abandons Jamie to Diane and follows Ben outside, wringing her hands all the way.  
  
***  
  
“Ben?”  
  
She finds him sloped against the back of JJ’s. She picks past the bags of garbage and a stray raccoon picking through them.  
  
“Ben, come back inside. I think Jamie needs us.”  
  
“I can’t. Not yet,” his hands are stuffed in his jean pockets and he is staring up at the sky.  
  
Leslie stops a few feet in front of him, “Ben this isn’t happening to you. It’s happening to your sister. She needs you.”  
  
He jerks his head and looks at her, “You have no idea what I am thinking right now.”  
  
She lets out a breath, “Alright then tell me.”  
  
“How could she,” he locks his jaw and Leslie can see the anger in his face and how he is struggling to keep it down, “how could she do something like that? Ruin her whole life over some  _guy_?”  
  
The way he says guy causes Leslie to flinch and she doesn’t mean to but she says, “You mean someone poor. Someone who didn’t have the same education or the same goals or whatever arbitrary bench marks you’re using to judge someone as good enough.”  
  
Ben looks pained, “She tried to use her body to get something, Leslie. Offered sex in exchange for what? I don’t even know what she was thinking. That’s not something my sister does. That’s something a -,”  
  
“Ben, don’t say it,”  
  
“-a whore does,” he finishes and seems to sag under the word itself.  
  
It cuts her, disappoints her, and Leslie puts up her hands, backs away, “I can’t do this.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I can’t stand by and watch you be this person. You’re better than this,” she cups her elbows, hugs her arms to her stomach “the man I know, that I…love,” she swallows the word, “would not do this. He wouldn’t hide in an alley way while his little sister is in there falling apart. He would stand by her, stand for her when she can’t.”    
  
“Well, I’m not you Leslie. I’m not perfect. I don’t always do the right thing,” he snaps.  
  
“Don’t turn this on me!”  
  
“Don’t be obtuse,” he says, “you love to be the hero. To swoop in and save the day. Isn’t that why you agreed to pretend to date me? Always the one with the plan. Tell me how you would fix this, huh? What great idea is going to fix my sister?”  
  
“Jamie doesn’t need fixing.”  
  
“What? How can you say that? Everything she’s worked for her entire life is gone. Just like that,” he snaps his fingers, “she’s never going to practice law again. She’s lucky the judge didn’t have her arrested. She’s going to have to start over, Leslie. And trust me as someone who has done that before it sucks. I know you think sunshine and enthusiasm fixes everything, but it doesn’t. Not for those of us who live in the real world.”  
  
“Jamie doesn’t need fixing,” Leslie repeats and adds, “and neither do I.”  
  
“I never said you did.”  
  
“ _How has the world not ruined you, yet?_ ” Leslie says, “That’s what you said to me that night.   _Don’t you get the risk? Don’t you get that you could get burned?_  You think I’m naive and unrealistic.”  
  
“Yeah, sometimes you are.”  
  
“I don’t need fixing and neither does Jamie!” Even as Leslie says it another part of her brain protests. She doesn’t know what she is doing. The words spill out and she means them, but not really. Not in the way they are draining the color from his face and setting his mouth on even a harder line, “You don’t get to temper me Ben! Burst my bubble and teach me how to be pragmatic. I don’t want to live like that. Your sister is not broken. She made a mistake and she’ll be fine. She’ll pick herself back up and she’ll figure herself out. I’ll help her if she wants it and she’s going to be great. She’s going to stand up for the right thing and believe in people. She’s going to be amazing and everything she wants to be because she’s James Madison Wyatt, sister of Benjamin Franklin Wyatt and don’t you dare take that away from her!”  
  
Ben takes two steps toward Leslie, stops just a hair’s breadth from her personal space, “Don’t do this Leslie. Don’t try to be the hero. Not with my sister.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because it’s none of your goddamn business!”  
  
He shouts it and it echoes off the walls of JJ’s, rippling in the night air and each moment after seizes Leslie, steals the very air from her lungs.  
  
She doesn’t say anything, just nods and keeps nodding as she backs away. He says her name once and then twice, but she doesn’t say anything or look up. She digs out her phone as she rounds the front of JJ’s. Presses the first name in her speed dial and starts talking at the sound of the click.  
  
“Ann, it’s me. Um,” she looks around the empty parking lot, “can you come pick me up? I’m at JJ’s,” her voice breaks, “I need you. Don’t bring Chris.”  
  
There is a murmur of understanding and Leslie hangs up.  
  
She links her hands above her head and turns. Everything feels like it is swirling away from her and she just wants to cry. But she doesn’t cry. Not yet. She glances through the front window at Jamie and Diane still perched in the booth and makes a decision. Less a decision, really, and more the conclusion of what had just happened.  
  
Inside, she crouches down by the table, ignores the way Diane stares at her, “Jamie?” she says. The girl looks up at her.  
  
“I’m going home. Ann is coming to get me. You are welcome to come home with me. We’ll draw you a bath, put you to bed, and tomorrow over the best breakfast in the world we’ll begin to figure this out, together.”  
  
Jamie looks at the door, “But Ben…”  
  
“Ben and I are done,” Leslie says. It catches in her throat but she tells herself no tears. Not yet. “I assume he’ll go back to the hotel with your mother. But you, you don’t have too. You are welcome to come home with me.”  
  
Leslie doesn’t think it is a very impassioned speech, but it is all she has in her. She reaches across the table and offers a palm. Jamie takes it. Diane, who is passive, scoots out of the way with a sigh. Leslie doesn’t dare meet her eye.  
  
She holds Jamie’s hand all the way out of the restaurant. Ann, whose timing is beautiful as always, pulls up. As they are climbing into the car Ben rounds the side of the restaurant. She almost stops when she sees his face. It is red and raw. He’s been crying and something in the pit of her stomach turns over. This is the opposite of flip flops. It is the dark side of the moon, the strange and terrible feeling that she is making a terrible mistake.  
  
But Leslie doesn’t stop. She gets into the car and asks Ann to drive them home.  
  
***  
  
They do exactly what Leslie promised Jamie they would do. They take her back to Leslie’s house ( _which, thanks in part to Ben no longer looks like a crazy person’s garage_ ) and Leslie draws a bath. Ann insists on taking Jamie’s pulse, checking her temperature, and generally ensuring that the girl, who is still weeping, doesn’t need to go to the emergency room. They make her tea, leave the door to the bathroom slightly open, and sit on the stairs where they can hear if she calls out or slips.  
  
Ann waits until Leslie meets her eye to ask what happened. And Leslie tells her in as hushed tone. She tells her about Diane and then Jamie and lastly Ben. She tells Ann what he called his sister and what he accused Leslie of. And Ann doesn’t speak, not until Leslie gets to the last part - the part about the confession that seemed so long ago now and the feeling she had at the table, the weird feeling of panic when he looked at her.  
  
“I don’t know what that was,” Leslie whispers, “I don’t get why I reacted like that. All he did was look at me in that way he does.”  
  
“Like he can’t he believe you exist.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Ann wraps her hands around her folded up legs, “That’s the way Ben looks at you. That’s how I describe it to Chris at least. He never sees it.”  
  
Leslie hesitates, but says it anyway because how could this evening get any worse?  
  
“Ann, I think Chris is a tool and you should break up with him.”  
  
A pause and a beat.  
  
“I think you might be right.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“I think you might be right.”  
  
“You’re not mad at me?”  
  
Ann tick tocks her head, “For not telling me sooner and staying away, yes. For thinking he’s a tool, no,” she reaches out and they lace their fingers together, “For the record though, your timing isn’t great. If he hadn’t been an ass earlier this week I probably would’ve thought you were just saying it because you and Ben broke up, but that doesn’t matter now. I’ve just missed you.”  
  
Leslie’s eyes well up, “I’ve missed you too,” and finally she begins to cry, finally lets it out. Ann scoots until they are sitting on the same step and wraps her arms around Leslie, presses her cheek to Leslie’s forehead.  
  
“I know only a few of those are for me sweetheart,” she says, “and that’s okay.”  
  
***  
  
Ann goes home to get a pair of pajamas and to break up with Chris ( _Might as well make a night of it, she says_ ). While she is gone, Leslie puts sheets on the guest bed for Jamie, who is wrapped up in Leslie’s spare bathrobe.  
  
When Leslie unearths her second favorite childhood teddy bear from the closet and sets it on the bed with a light, “Just in case. I won’t tell anyone,” Jamie bursts into tears again.  
  
“Jamie, you need to stop crying. Ann’s going to make you go see a doctor if you don’t.”  
  
“I can’t help it. Everything is so terrible,” she blubbers, “I’ve ruined everything.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Leslie guides her to the bed and rubs giant circles on her back, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Start over. Mornings are great like that. They are a fresh chance. Every day begins anew.”  
  
Jamie nods and hiccups, “I keep trying to believe that, but it is just so bad. And you don’t even know the worst part.”  
  
 _Oh god, do not let her be pregnant_ , Leslie thinks. She says tentatively, “It get’s worse?”  
  
Jamie nods, “I gave him my credit cards.”  
  
“Gave who?”  
  
“The man,” she rolls her eyes, “my lover as my mother likes to say. I gave him or rather his mother my credit cards. All of them. To pay for the surgery for his daughter. It was the whole reason he tried to hold up the convenience store in the first place.”  
  
“Okay,” Leslie waits.  
  
“And she used them for the surgery. Just like I told her to, but then she kept using them cause she’s too old to work and with her son gone they had no way to pay rent and buy food.”  
  
“How much?”  
  
“$30,000.”  
  
The first question Leslie has is how Jamie could get $30,000 worth of credit, but she doesn’t ask that. She stays very silent for a moment and Jamie stops crying. She looks up at Leslie.  
  
“The credit card companies are starting to call me. The balances are coming due and I don’t have that kind of money. I don’t have a job or a place to live. No one is going to hire me. I have no idea what I am going to do. I can’t go back to Partridge and live with her. You’ve seen what she is like. And Ben…Ben hates me.”  
  
“He doesn’t hate you,” Leslie says quickly, “he’s just a guy. He doesn’t understand.”  
  
Leslie doesn’t know if that is true, but it sounds right and Jamie doesn’t question her.  
  
“I just…I don’t want to keep hiding behind him, you know? I want to face this. It just scares me so much. I’ve screwed up so badly.”  
  
“Is that everything?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean, is that everything? Have you gotten all the secrets out in the open?”  
  
Jamie nods.  
  
“There you go!” Leslie brightens, “That’s a start. You’ve turned around and looked everything square in the eye. That is one of the hardest parts. The rest we’ll figure out in the morning.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really,” Leslie says, “it’ll all be fine.”  
  
She wished she believed it herself.  
  
***  
  
Later that night Leslie lays on her back and stares at her ceiling. Next to her, Ann shifts.  
  
“Leslie you are the loudest starer I’ve ever met,” Ann mumbles, “Go to sleep.”  
  
“What if I made a mistake?” Leslie looks at her best friend. Moonlight streams in through the window highlighting her face, “What if he is the love of my life and I just let him walk out?”  
  
“Is he the love of your life?”  
  
Leslie blinks, “I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, maybe you should figure that out.”    
  
***  
  
Sometimes it takes a very long time for clarity to come.  
  
Morning does not bring answers, but it does bring Ben to her doorstep. It also reveals that Leslie is a terrible, terrible coward.  
  
She sends Ann to answer the door. She hides in the space between her bed and the closet, wrapped in a spare plaid shirt he left at her place. She can’t hear what they say to each other, but she does hear Ann call Jamie’s name. She listens to Jamie descend downstairs and go outside to talk to her brother. Their conversation is brief because Jamie comes back inside and there is the sound of a car starting up.  
  
A few minutes later Ann appears in the doorway of Leslie’s bedroom to catch her crying. She wipes the tears away with her fist.  
  
“How’d it go?”  
  
“As your best friend I did that once. I’m not doing it again,” Ann drops a file folder onto the bed.  
  
Leslie crawls from the floor onto her bed, “What’s that?”  
  
“A presentation for the Harvest Festival. He wanted you to have it. Says it’s everything you should need,” Ann pauses, “I’m putting on a movie to watch with Jamie. Want to come down?”  
  
***  
  
And that is how it starts - the three of them and the movies. It is a balm and hide out.  
  
They start with  _When Harry Met Sally_  because it is really one of the few romantic comedies Leslie owns ( _because of the orgasm scene. It was research_ ). But eventually they pilfer Ann’s impressive collection. Each night for the rest of the summer the three of them collect on Leslie’s couch for all manners of romances:  _Roman Holiday_  and  _Casablanca_ ,  _Pretty Woman_ ,  _Sleepless in Seattle_ , _Shop Around the Corner_ ,  _The Notebook_ , and  _The Princess Bride_. Leslie buys a bigger television and Jamie perfects the art of stove top popcorn. They watch every single movie on the American Film Institute’s list of greatest love stories and when they are through with that move onto Katherine Heigl productions.  
  
And none of them talk about why.  
  
They don’t talk about Ben or Chris or the man Jamie lost everything for. Instead, they convince Ron to recommend Jamie for a job in the city’s legal counsel office. It is a temp job and beneath her, but it is a job. When Chris is offered the city manager’s job they get drunk and curse men at the Snakehole. When he begins to date Penelope, brings her around City Hall and to every event whether someone invited him or not, they get drunker and take turns dancing with Tom’s weird friend Jean-Ralphio, delighting him to no end. And when  Leslie pitches the Harvest Festival to Chris, using every bit of Ben’s presentation, and he enthusiastically says yes they get drunk again. But that time it is different. It is for the win.  
  
Jamie continues to live in Leslie’s spare bedroom and somewhere between the movies and meals, Leslie becomes really good friends with her ( _this is around the time Leslie starts calling Ben’s mother Diane even if it is just silently in her head_ ).  
  
She isn’t Ann. Jamie is prone to tears and wallowing in a way that kind of irritates Leslie sometimes, but she is fun. She is impossibly cool. She knows how to do all those things with computers that April knows how to do and sometimes Leslie comes home to find the two of them hanging out in her dining room, both on their computers. She doesn’t quite understand how that constitutes hanging out, but if it works for them that is fine by her. Jamie goes shopping with her and Ann and together they convince Leslie to get her first pair of knee high boots, a pair made of buttery cognac leather that reminds Leslie of Ben’s couch whenever she wears them.  
  
Jamie, who loves to cook as much as Ben does, unearths her own cookware from the trunk of her car ( _where all of her worldly belongings live_ ) and begins to teach Leslie how to make some of the recipes Ben used to make her. Again, neither of them use Ben’s name, but they don’t need too. They both miss him.  
  
Jamie talks to him every few days by phone. Leslie can always tell when it is him. Jamie goes out to the backyard and walks between flowerbeds. Sometimes Leslie watches from the kitchen window.  
  
A few weeks after that night Jamie hovers in Leslie’s doorway on her way to bed, “He’s moving back to Partridge.”  
  
“What?” It takes Leslie, who is reading, a few seconds to figure out who Jamie is referring too. It isn’t that she’s stopped thinking of him; she thinks about him all the time. Misses him like crazy.  
  
“Penelope got that job. He never applied for it. I guess Mom must have pulled some strings cause he’s taking the City Manager job in Partridge.”  
  
“He’s qualified for the job,” Leslie says, “I’m sure your mom didn’t do him any favors.”  
  
“Oh, he didn’t apply for it. Mom put his name in and when they called for an interview he didn’t really have a reason to say no,” Jamie smiles sadly, “There’s nothing here to make him stay.”  
  
It’s the only time Jamie makes Leslie feel guilty. Otherwise she is a perfect and appeasing house guest.  
  
Slowly and surely, Jamie begins to put her life back together. She cancels her cell phone plan, goes to an inexpensive pre-pay phone. She sells her very nice, completely paid for car, buys an older, reliable Saturn, and uses what is left to pay down some of her mounting debt. She drives to Chicago to meet with her old boss, apologizes, and mends fences as best she can. She drops a present off at the house of her lover’s* mother for his daughter, but doesn’t go in. Comes back to Pawnee and cries into Leslie’s lap while Ann assures Jamie that she will get over him. You always do.  
  
 _*Leslie hates that term for some reason, but Jamie prefers not to call him by his name. It makes her too sad so lover he is called._  
  
And somewhere in all of it Leslie hides. In Jamie and the movies and joy of having her best friend back, Leslie keeps the desperate, dangerous thoughts at bay.  
  
The ones that creep in when she wakes up with an arm stretched out, reaching for the far side of the bed as if someone should be there.  
  
It is the thought of his name, of sentences half started but never finished, that causes the  doubts. So many doubts. When she pitches the Harvest Festival to the Pawnee’s businesses despite having the flu she wonders if it would’ve been easier if he had been there. When Ron runs into Tammy again Leslie can’t help wonder if she’ll ever see him again. What she’d say if she did. And when they do a big media blitz for the festival and Joan tries to pull some sort of gotcha journalism on her ( _Was the corn for the corn maze really Pawnee corn?_ ) Leslie thinks Ben would have caught that if he’d been here. She is sure of it.  
  
In September, Jacks drives to Pawnee to take Jamie out to dinner. Jamie is more excited than Leslie has seen her in a long time and encourages the excitement by calling Ann and the two of them help her pick out a dress. When Jacks comes to the house he hugs Jamie with affection, seems relieved to see that she is well fed and alive, but it is on Ann that his eyes linger. Ann who doesn’t have a lick of makeup on and is in sweats as she and Leslie settle in for  _A League of Their Own_. And Leslie feels a pang of regret because she thinks Jamie’s mourning has suddenly gotten much longer.  
  
Her own, she decides, is going to be over. That moment. No more sad Leslie.  
  
And that night as she and Ann cry at the next to last scene in  _A League of their Own_ , when all the women are let into the museum to see their pictures on the walls, Leslie declares, “Women celebrating women is just the best thing in the world.”  
  
And she absolutely means it.  
  
***  
  
Four months.  
  
From July to October, Leslie doesn’t talk about Ben. Doesn’t acknowledge him or what happened between them. She bears down, pulls up, and drills in at work. It is all about work for Leslie. Besides Ann and Jamie and all the other parts of her life of course.  
  
In work, though, Leslie finds an equilibrium. That steady ground she had up until that day a certain stupid state auditor walked into her life and ruined it with her face.  
  
She may be a bit intense in the wake of her break up with Ben.  
  
She may go a bit overboard when the guy who chains himself to the pipe in her office baits her into an argument about  _Twilight_  vs. _Harry Potter_. As if that is a real argument. What moron would ever think  _Twilight_  is even comparable to  _Harry Potter_?  
  
And the fact that Ron has to pull her off him has nothing to do with her state of mind.  
  
But it is the Harvest Festival, the thing that was supposed to save Pawnee, that saves Leslie. It brings out the absolute worst. She steamrolls everybody. Works until she can’t keep her eyes open and lets absolutely nothing be done with out her approval.  
  
And when she makes the signs the week of the festival,  _Leslie Approved_  and  _Leslie Not Approved_ , and then proceeds to put Jerry under the  _Leslie Not Approved_  sign when he loses Lil’Sebatian, Ron finally intercedes. Drags Leslie out to the middle of the corn maze and opens two beers.    
  
“Leslie, you know what I do whenever I think of Tammy 2?”    
  
“What?”  
  
“I think of her cloven hooves and the scent of sulfur and how I will hate her with every breath I take. It helps me never fall under her spell again.”  
  
“I can’t hate him, Ron,” she sighs, “There isn’t one reason we broke up. There are a dozen small ones and they all add up to the fact that we’re too different. It would never work and we were fooling ourselves to think that it could,” she chews on her lip, “I think he realized that too cause he never once came after me. Never once tried to fight for me.”  
  
Ron folds his arms, “That doesn’t mean he thinks that Leslie. It means he’s a dumb ass.”  
  
***  
  
Leslie Knope has hated two men in her life: Bobby Drammer, who in sixth grade told her she’d never be the first woman president and Ben Wyatt, life ruiner and general human disaster. Leslie doesn’t do hate well; its like she is allergic to it. Her body rejects it. Her skin breaks out in a weird rash and she develops some sort of twitch. She looses words and generally stops being a functioning human being. With Bobby the solution had been simple:  run for student council, win, and knee him in the balls three years later when he tries to grope her at homecoming. Ben Wyatt, however, is, you know, more complicated.  
  
All of this is his fault. Him and his terrible face are the reason she sits in the empty fair grounds, amidst used popcorn containers and shut down games, with the fading melody of carnival rides lingering in the air. She wipes her eye with the back of her hand, blinks, and wills herself not to cry.  
  
It’s his fault she is sad and it should be like the happiest night of her life so she kind of hates him for ruining it. For that and being a dumb ass, as Ron aptly put it to her.  
  
The problem is that in the four months since he left Leslie has figured out that question that plagued her the night it all ended. The one his confession brought up in her and for a while paralyzed her.  
  
Ben Wyatt is the love of her life.  
  
And that is why she hates him.  
  
She hates him for being so damn inconvenient.  
  
For not being the practice crush he was supposed to be.  
  
And if he was supposed to be the love of her life, why couldn’t he be more the way she always imagined him to be - more like herself, less ornery, and not so, you know, right?  
  
Because he is right. She likes to be the hero. Wants to save the day. Needs to really.  
  
Hadn’t Ann warned her? That life isn’t like a movie. There are real consequences.  
  
And real consequences suck.  
  
***  
  
Leslie exhales and picks herself up from the bench. Her whole team is waiting for her at the Snakehole, to celebrate, and the thing about clarity is that even when it comes it sometimes takes a backseat to real life.  
  
When she reaches the grassy field they were using for staff parking, she stops. A car sits next to her’s in the otherwise empty field. It is a Saturn, just like Ben’s, and the lights are on.  
  
She approaches slowly, holds her breath, and when the door opens she stops.  
  
It is Jacks.  
  
She lets it go and berates herself for thinking it might be him.  
  
But then she sees his face, the tears. Hurries toward him, “What is it? What happened?”  
  
“Leslie, there was an accident and Ben…”


	11. Chapter 11

When Ben Wyatt wakes up he is in a hospital, there is a tube down his throat, and Ann Perkins bends over his bedside.  
He can’t breathe. It is like choking on plastic. He tugs on the tube, but Ann, whose voice isn’t quite clear, tries to tell him to stop. Nothing is quite clear. Everything is fuzzy. He can’t remember how he got here or why his whole body hurts, as if he had been slammed into pavement.  
  
Ann tugs on his wrists, holds them down. She is deceptively strong, he thinks. Either that or he is weak. He feels weak. Nothing feels right. His limbs are sore. His abdomen is sore. And he had the worst headache in the world.  
  
“Ben, you need to calm down. We’re going to take the tube out, okay?” Ann is shouting. He wants her to stop shouting, but he can’t talk. Her voice keeps going in and out like a bad phone connection. Loud and then soft. Loud and soft.  
  
There are other nurses in the room now. He has the stray thought that Ann isn’t in scrubs like them. And then another thought: what was Ann doing in Partridge? Had something happened to Leslie? That last one sneaks in there before Ben can stop it. His mind comes back around to the obvious fact: he is the one lying in the hospital bed. It is more likely something happened to him.  
  
And that causes another level of panic, one that sends his head thrashing and it is then that he catches a glimpse of his legs: ensconced in plaster casts. Both of his legs were broken.  
  
He drops his head to the pillow and the feeling isn’t right. He moves his head back and forth. There is hair missing. Someone shaved his head. It had to have been Jacks. Only Jacks would sneak into the hospital and shave his head while he slept.  
  
But then, like before, rationality catches up with him. They must have shaved his head. Why though? And it occurs to him there must have been a surgery.  
  
This time it is fear. Real fear and he stills. This allows the nurses to take out the breathing tube. Ben chokes back when they do and when he can finally move his jaw, it hurts. The stiller he lies the more he realizes that every inch of him hurts, a dull throbbing pain. He imagines a chicken breast must feel this way ( _if it had feelings_ ) after you tenderize it. Like his molecules are battered and leaking.  
  
He lies there and waits. The nurses say something about getting his doctor and Ben watches Ann, who is still holding his wrists, nod. She asks for a glass of water for him and then smiles down at him. He thinks Leslie is right, she really does make a beautiful nurse.  
  
“Ben,” she says slowly, “I’m going to let go of your hands, but I don’t want you to move. I don’t want you to talk. Not just yet. Just let your body wake up. It’s been,” she pauses, “along time.”  
  
A muscle in his cheek twitches, but Ben doesn’t say anything. He obeys.  
  
Ann notices and looks toward the door, “I wish one of them were here,” she looks back at Ben, “Ben, nod if you remember there was an accident.”  
  
He pauses. Everything except for Ann is very fuzzy.  
  
Her mouth thins, “You were in a car accident with your mother. You hit a deer,” at his silent alarm she holds up a hand, “Your mother is fine. She broke her wrist. But you…you went through the windshield. Both of your legs were broken and you punctured a lung, but it was your head,” she stops, eyes the door, but Ben starts to try to sit up, to demand answers, and she gives in and explains, “you hit your head. It was bad. Very bad. You had swelling in the brain and the doctors had to operate to release the pressure. Then they put you in a medically induced coma. That was two weeks ago,” she pauses, “they took you out of the coma, but you developed a clot and there was another surgery and after that it was just a matter of waiting,” she is crying now, “They warned us that you might make it. They thought there was too much damage…but none of us were going to accept that. We’ve been waiting ever since,” she chews her lip, “your mom and Jamie and Jacks and Leslie. They’ve been here. The whole time.”  
  
Ben doesn’t know what to think. Everything hurts and he just wants to close his eyes, but Ann is crying now and then he hears the door open. His mom, Jamie, and Jacks crowd his bedside. They press their hands into him, around his wrists and against his shoulder, as if to tether him to life and to them. There are so many words and he can’t keep it all straight. A doctor comes in and he says some things and Ben nods along as if he understood what the man is saying, but he doesn’t.  
  
He wonders vaguely where Leslie is.  
  
And then that night presses forward in his mind. It is like a download. The sensations: the summer humidity, the pavement beneath his feet, the brush of her hand on his chest when he tried to stop her. It is like momentum deferred. The push of emotions he’d kept locked up since that night spring forward. Ben cries. Silent tears that he can’t even wipe away because Jamie and his mother have a lock on either arm. Jacks notices the tears, sees Ben shaking his head trying to wipe them away with the pillow.  
  
“Hey, let’s give him some space,” Jacks says, “it’s a lot for him all at once.”  
  
Ben can’t stop the tears. He blinks but they come anyway. Jacks ushers everyone else from the room, but turns back, closes the door, and drags a chair over to Ben’s bedside. He waits for his best friend to look at him. When Ben finally does Jacks gives a lopsided grin.  
  
“So I think I might be in love with Ann Perkins.”  
  
***  
  
“What?” Ben croaks. It is the first thing he’s actually said. His throat feels like dust is clogged up in there.  
  
“Ann Perkins. I think I might be in love.” Jacks hands him the glass of water, holds it steady as Ben sips through the straw, “And it’s all thanks to you almost dying.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Ben wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and is shocked to see how pale and thin he’s gotten, “how long have I been out of it?”  
  
Jacks squints, “About a month.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It took about ten days for the swelling to come down. There was a second surgery because of the clot and then you decided to get two weeks of beauty rest.”  
  
“You’ve all been here the whole time?” Ben looks at the door. He’s still waiting to see Leslie, wonders what he’ll feel when he does.  
  
“Hell no,” Jacks scoffs and laughs, “we’d have lost our jobs. Your mom has been here whenever she’s not in class. Jamie’s boss gave her tons of time off cause you’re her brother, but Ann and I have gone back and forth two or three times. Of course Leslie wins the devotion award. She hasn’t left the hospital.”  
  
“At all?”  
  
“Well, to shower and I think Ann has dragged her back to your place a few times when she went more than twenty-four hours without sleeping.”  
  
“She’s been staying at my place?”  
  
Jacks exhales and locks his hands behind his head, “That was one for the record books. Your mom and Leslie went through four rounds in the halls before your mom agreed. She kept saying she wanted you’d prefer if Leslie stayed at her place since you know you two weren’t a thing anymore, but Leslie wasn’t going to have it. I think it was the third argument before they stopped pretending to be polite. Leslie called your mother a jerk, said she was cold, and that she didn’t appreciate you. I wish I could have seen Diane’s face. Jamie says it was epic. But it worked. She gave in and handed over your keys.”  
  
Ben tries to imagine Leslie’s eyes narrowed on his mother, the way she bobs her head when she yells at you. He’s been on the receiving end of that fierce gaze more than once and he can’t help it, a tinge of hope, the slightest smudge, twists in him. After how they ended, why would Leslie defend him? She obviously thought the worst of him. But she’d come and stayed, stayed even more than his own mother. His eyes drift over to the couch. There are a couple of biographies stacked on one end. Next to that is an open binder, highlighters, and a laptop. There are takeout containers and Ben would bet a hundred dollars they had dried whipped cream stuck to their lids. And on the end of the couch, folded over the arm, is a blazer. Even in a hospital, keeping vigil by his bedside, Leslie Knope wears a blazer.  
  
And Ben can't help it. He smiles.  
  
***  
  
Ben falls asleep before he sees Leslie. When he wakes up the lights in the room are off except a far one in the corner. Leslie is bent over her laptop. She sits on the couch and is using a chair to prop her feet up. Her feet are bare and Ben watches her wiggle her toes as she yawns. She catches him looking at her mid-yawn and she freezes.  
  
Ben gulps, but he doesn’t look away.  
  
Finally. After so many months he gets to look at her again. In all that time he hadn’t forgotten what she looked like, but he had underestimated the strength with which she unnerved him. It is a disturbance of marrow. Something deep down inside of him stirs, undergoes transformation, when he looks at her. Ben has no other way to describe it except in terms of chemistry: it is compression and contraction. A conversion, addition, and reversion at the same time. He literally turns over.  
  
“Hey,” she whispers.  
  
He wonders if they will ever find a different way of starting a conversation. He hopes not, “Hey.”  
  
She sets the laptop aside, gets up, and walks barefoot - Ben’s really struck by her bare feet - across the linoleum. She stops just shy of his bedside, hovers a few inches away.  
  
He wants her to touch him, to whisper her fingers over his arm, but she doesn’t. She is smiling at him, but it’s not enough.  
  
“I’m really glad you woke up,” she says, “Ron was about ready to come to Partridge and kidnap me bodily back to Pawnee. Apparently the Parks Department doesn’t work well without me.”  
  
“Leslie, I am so sorry,” he rushes the words out, lifts himself up. There is a stitch in his side and he winces, falls back down, “about that night. I am sorry.”  
  
She shakes her head, “Ben, it is fine.”  
  
“No, it isn’t fine,” he says, “I said terrible things.”  
  
“You were upset.”  
  
“That doesn’t excuse it.”  
  
“It is old news,” Leslie shifts closer, but still doesn’t touch him, “what matters now is that you are alright. I told them you would be. You had to be.”  
  
 It’s like they are talking, but not at the same time. Ben swallows. There is something wrong. She is too measured. Too calm and forgiving. This is not his Leslie. This is another Leslie. A detached Leslie.  
  
“Jacks said you’ve barely left the hospital,” he says, licks his lips.  
  
It almost breaks her. She looks down at the floor. Touches two fingers to the sheet on his bed and it is everything in him not to reach out and grab her hand, pull her to him.  
  
“He shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbles, but lifts a shoulder, shrugs, “I couldn’t leave you. It’s what you do for a friend. You don’t leave them when they need you.”  
  
“Friend?”  
  
“Friend.” It is a statement. She looks at him finally, stares really. And Ben can see it in her eyes. She is asking him not to push it. She is laying out the terms for them moving forward.  
  
And though Ben knows this is a terrible thought, he half wishes he had pretended to stay asleep. Wishes he hadn’t woken up to this.  
  
He nods, “Friends.”  
  
This garners a smile and Leslie moves quickly around his bed. She holds a glass of water to his lips and he drinks obediently. She finally touches him, helps him sit up, puts an extra pillow behind him. She drags a chair over and produces from somewhere a list. A list of everything she’s been waiting to tell him. It doesn’t occur to her that it is the middle of the night and Ben doesn’t bother to remind her. Instead, he lets her tell him about Jamie. How she’s been picking herself back up. She talks to him about Chris, who has taken the job of City Manager and begun dating Penelope in some bizarre alternate universe version of reality. She recounts how Penelope has tried to make adjustments, via Chris, to City Hall and how Ron has undertaken some sort of underground insurrection against her.  
  
“Apparently she’s been using Pawnee as her base and needed a desk. Chris let her have my desk and she’s co-opted Tom as her assistant. I mean, it’s not even allowed. Pawnee and the Governor’s offices do not share a budget. So anyway, Tom and April have been helping Ron. April stole her car keys and melted them down into some sort of weird sculpture. She presented it as a present to Penelope and the woman was so touched she keeps it on her desk. She really thinks April _likes_ her.  
  
“And Tom just worked at being the most incompetent assistant ever. She’s always doing this thing where she has him write down things she says as if anyone cares and he doesn’t do it. He always did that for me. And apparently she loves free beauty samples so Tom has been switching out the products for like lard. She smears it all over her face and Tom takes a video of it and posts it on youtube under  _Woman rubs lard on her body_. It’s got like ten thousand hits already. He wants to make a whole series of the videos like that.  
  
“But Ron’s the best. She tried to tell Ron what to do. Ron didn’t do it and she told Chris on him. Chris made Ron get a full body massage with him because he thinks Ron has a case of the grumps. The next morning Penelope came into the office and found deer hide on her desk.”  
  
“He did what?”  
  
“A deer hide…from the deer he shot at the cabin, remember? The one Penelope was all grossed out by. He tanned it and draped it over her desk. Well, my desk actually.”  
  
“That’s kind of cool.”  
  
“I know!” Leslie sits up, “but Penelope apparently accused Ron of harassment. But no one admitted they saw Ron put it on her desk so she couldn’t prove it.”  
  
Ben smiles, “It sounds like they’re having fun.”  
  
“Yeah,” Leslie says wistfully, “I kinda wish I could be part of it. I keep sending them ideas but I wish I could be on the ground, you know?” But she catches herself, “I’m glad I’m here though. It was important that I was here.”  
  
Was it? Ben doesn’t understand. A whole month to sit by a friend’s bedside, to give up weeks of vacation time, and drop your life to sit in a hospital - that wasn’t something a friend did. Not even a best friend, like Jacks.  
  
“Leslie -,” he starts, but she looks at him again with that pleading gaze and Ben gives in.  
  
He lets her move through her list - to tell him how she thinks Jacks might be in love with Ann, how she doesn’t know if Ann is even aware, and maybe, just maybe Jamie might like him. She doesn’t tell him about her fights with his mother, but she does tell him that she has ordered him a new coffee maker because the one he had did a terrible job. She organized his medicine cabinet and thinks he might have a garden snake that lives in the garage. She questions why there are so many calzone stands in Partridge and compliments him on his department. They are proficient.  
  
“You met my staff?”  
  
“They’ve been in a lot. They obviously care a lot about you. It reminded me of my department actually. You’ve got some real friends here.”  
  
Ben smiles. He half-wishes he could say that the move to Partridge had been a bad one, a disaster, but in reality it hadn’t been. The job part of it had turned out beautifully.  
  
But Leslie marches forward. She goes through the projects Ben had been working on prior to his accident, gives her opinion on his files, and finally, several hours later ends with Ben’s hair.  
  
“My hair?”  
  
“It’s gone. They shaved it all off,” she points to his head as if he could see it.  
  
“And?”  
  
“I think you need to grow it back out. I don’t like you with short hair.”  
  
Ben runs a hand over his skull, smiles ruefully, “Alright. Anything else?”  
  
Leslie consults the list. She’s curled into the chair and propped her feet up on the side of his hospital bed. It doesn’t look comfortable, but Ben can’t offer her something better.  
  
“Nope, that’s it.”  
  
“Oh good,” Ben says through a yawn and Leslie sits up, drops her feet, and much to his disappointment looses the pressure of one part of her body near a part of his body.  
  
“I can’t believe how long that took,” she stands, “You need to go to bed and I close my eyes or Ann is going to kill me.”  
  
Ben muses that there is little difference to Leslie between sleep and closing one’s eyes.  
  
He lets her help him lie back down, sip more water, and when her hands hover over him, catch themselves from lying her palms on his chest, Ben sees what he can only call a veil drop across her expression. She is retreating. Detaching. She becomes someone not his Leslie and Ben wishes he had the courage to press her for why.  
  
She smiles that tight, constrained smile, “Goodnight Ben.”  
  
“Goodnight.”  
  
***  
  
Ben is released from the hospital a week after he wakes up. In that week a lot and nothing happens at the same time.  
  
Jacks makes a move on Ann that only ends awkwardly for him, her, and Ben.  
  
Jamie demands an apology from him.  
  
And Ben has his first fight with his mother for the first time since Ice Town. Sort of.  
  
Oh, and Leslie…well everything with Leslie stays pretty much the same so that is the nothing part and Ben would be thankful for her, a tiny island of stability in his life, but she is the very person he wants emotion from, anything to replace that tight smile she gives him, as if she’s holding her breath.  
  
Jacks really is the fool who sparked the whole week.  
  
Ann is set to return back to Pawnee two days after Ben wakes up. He can’t blame her. She wasn’t really here for him. She was here for Leslie. He feels the looks Ann gave him, a depressed resentment. She is not happy that Leslie shows no plans of leaving Partridge. When Ann suggests Leslie might want to return to her life, Leslie moves away, flits like a bird, toward something else needing her attention. She points to her binders and folders and notes as if to say, “See? I can do it all.”  
  
Still, Ann doesn’t hate him, which Ben thinks is a big accomplishment. She is the one to translate the medical information the doctors tell him. She gives him her opinion about his recovery: how long until he’ll be in the casts ( _3 more weeks_ ), until he can return to work ( _at least a month_ ), when the sutures from his last surgery can come out ( _a few more days_ ). When Leslie gets intense about his recuperation ( _Should he be practicing with the crutches more?Does he need more sleep? Should he be eating solids?_ ) Ann steers her to the cafeteria for some coffee.  
  
And Ann puts herself as a buffer between Jamie and their mother, who seems unnerved. Whenever Diane brings up her great disappointment, Ann starts talking loudly and quickly. She grips the Jamie’s hand and practically drags her from the room. Ben notices that Diane only does this when Leslie is far from earshot and he can’t help but smile. His mother is afraid of Leslie Knope.  
  
Ben sees what is happening to his mother. He’s seen it before. She was like this after his dad left. Bitter. But also brittle. Jamie had been too young and Bartlett too angry to see the way her hands shook when she put them to bed. How she stopped eating. How the embarrassment of being left, not even for another woman but for a different life, stung and continued to sting like a perpetual sunburn. By leaving their father had declared all of it: Partridge, the home they lived in, the camping trips they took in the back yard, and their family itself, not good enough.  
  
That had been the punch to the jaw. If Diane was anything she was prideful. She had great pride in them, her family. She loved Partridge and the life she’d built there. To have the closest person to you, the person you leaned on, to mock that life by walking away for something shinier - well, Ben can’t blame her for being hard. For expecting a lot from them. He never could blame her.  
  
But, maybe, he begins to think it is time too.  
  
Which gets us back to Jacks.  
  
Ben realizes quickly that while Ann has been the buffer for everyone else, Jacks has silently inserted himself into the crook of her elbow. He brings her coffee. Begs her to go back to her hotel and sleep. Shows her funny videos on his iPad. Makes her laugh with stories from the road. Talks about his sister. And he defers to her. That is what catches Ben’s eye. Everyone else - the nursing staff, Jamie, and even somewhat Diane - defers to Leslie. Leslie who moves like a tornado through the halls. They follow her leadership as if she was the captain of the “Recuperate Ben” campaign. All except for Jacks. When Leslie says they should let Ben sleep and go get dinner, he trails a hand over her shoulders and asks if she is hungry. When Leslie insists they all play games, to entertain, and cheer up Ben - Jacks sometimes doesn’t participate. He suggests to Ann they go for a walk, get out of the hospital. When Leslie declares they are going to watch  _The Princess Bride_  because it is the best romantic comedy for guys ( _cause apparently watching romantic comedies is a thing for Leslie, Jamie, and Ann_ ) Jacks looks to Ann and asks if that is what she wants to watch.  
  
It catches her off guard and Ann nervously says yes.  
  
So when Jacks finally does make a move the morning Ann is set to leave, Ben can see why he was hopeful.  
  
He just wishes he hadn’t done it in Ben’s hospital room.  
  
During his stint in a coma, everyone had gotten incredibly too comfortable with the idea that Ben was just constantly unconscious. He was like a vase of flowers or one of the monitors. He would wake up and find people in the midst of incredibly personal conversations: Diane on the phone with Bartlett, Jamie crying to Leslie about her lover, and this time Ann and Jacks. And he’d lie there too petrified to interrupt. And this morning is the same. He wakes up but does not stir. Stays perfectly still.  
  
“I’m in love with you Ann,” Jacks is saying. Ben can’t see what is happening, but he thinks they are at the foot of his bed.  
  
Ann takes a sharp breath, “What?”  
  
“I’m in love with you.”  
  
“But we’ve…we’ve never even been on a date?”  
  
Ben can hear the frustration in Jacks’ voice, “I know, but I’m still in love with you.”  
  
“This is very sweet, but Jacks I hardly know you.”  
  
“That’s not true. You know that I’m a good guy. That I make you laugh and I hold a steady job. I’m Ben’s best friend.”  
  
“And Ben broke my best friend’s heart.”  
  
“Well then I hate Ben.”  
  
This makes her laugh and Ben bites down on the inside of his own cheeks. There is a prolonged silence and Ben feels like he is watching a movie. He can see it in his mind: they stand a mere foot apart, Jacks leans into her a bit, and Ann grips something, the end of the bed or her purse because she is shaking. Just the tiniest bit.  
  
Jacks speaks again, “Ann, I’m serious about this.”  
  
“And so am I. I barely know you.”  
  
“Then get to know me. Let me come to Pawnee next weekend. I’ll take you out. It’ll be great.”  
  
In her hesitation, Ben’s heart squeezes.  
  
“Jacks, I just got out of a relationship.”  
  
“Yeah like four months ago and the guy was a total douche. I’m not Chris. I’m, like, ten times the man Chris is.”  
  
“I don’t doubt that you are, but see I told myself after that relationship that I’d take some time. For me. And I’m not done taking that time.”  
  
“When will you be done?”  
  
“I don’t know and I don’t want to rush it,” Ann sighs, “I’ve watched Jamie and Leslie fight for months to get over men. I don’t want to be broken like that.”  
  
“I wouldn’t break you.”  
  
She smiles. Ben can hear it in her voice, “You can’t promise that.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Ben thinks she touches Jacks, somehow. He can hear the rustle of hands, “I think people underestimate you. You really are incredibly sweet. But you know so is Ben. Leslie was always telling me about how sweet he was and then he goes and says those things. Those things that broke her heart.”  
  
“I’m not Ben.”  
  
“I’m not making sense,” Ann says quickly, “What I am saying is its possible to date the guy who is ten times better than the guy you dated before and still have your heart broken. And it’s not even the sadness that scares me. It’s the way a guy can upend your dreams. Look at Jamie? And Leslie…Leslie has two incompatible dreams now. She has to choose and it’s killing her. I look at them and I realize I don’t know what I want. I’ve always taken every part of my life one step at a time. I’ve never been a planner. I didn’t think that was fair cause it closed you off to something that could be really great. Andy. Mark. Even Chris. They were these risks and I’m not sorry I took them, but I also think it’s time I get some direction. And that’s why I can’t let you date me. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“But I love you.”  
  
“And that really is the nicest thing anyone has said to me in the longest time.”  
  
“Then why doesn’t it make any difference?”  
  
This is Ben. He can’t keep still any longer. He wakes. Sits up. Startles both of them, but doesn’t care. He is frustrated. Days - months really - of resentment have built up and the pressure is too much any more, “Why the hell does it not make a bit of difference than this guy - who, by the way, I’ve never heard say I love you to a woman - is professing his love and devotion to you? He’s just asking for a chance. Not promises. Just a date. What is so repugnant about that?”  
  
Ann looks at him with wild eyes.  
  
Jacks says his name, but Ben doesn’t care. He keeps on yelling and he’s not really sure what he is saying. He just knows he is so sick of this. He is stuck in this bed and people buzz by him. He is tired of sitting still. Of smiling at Leslie and affirming their friendship. He wants to confront her, but it isn’t easy. He doesn’t trust himself not to lose her again. Last time he was honest with her that is what happened.  
  
“Seriously,” he yells, “what the hell does a guy have to do to get some credit around here?”  
  
Ann backs away. Tears well up in her eyes and Ben’s heart sinks. He can’t believe he just yelled at her best friend, a proxy. Took it out on the woman who had cared for his little sister, who had helped Leslie make the Harvest Festival come true when he didn’t, who had apologized through tears when he begged to be let in that morning after. Ann Perkins. Beautiful nurse to everyone.  
  
He says he name like it is the apology itself. An  _I’m sorry you’ve gotten dragged into this_. But she is gone, backed out of the room, and Jacks is cursing at him, following after her. Jamie appears at his doorway. A muffin and orange juice in hand. Her eyes dart back and forth between him and the retreating figures of Jacks and Ann down the hospital hall.  
  
Ben falls back onto his bed, covers his eyes with both hands, and moans.  
  
“What was that about?”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
She enters the room fully, shuts the door behind her, and shoves the muffin into his hands, “Leslie said you need to eat this.”  
  
“I’m not hungry.” He says.  
  
“Eat the damn muffin, Ben,” Jamie paces. She sloshes orange juice on the floor and Ben almost tells her to be careful, not to slip. But he doesn't because obviously something is bothering her.  
  
He picks at the muffin. Cranberry walnut. His favorite. Damn Leslie.  
  
“So you’re angry at me too?”  
  
“Damn right I’m angry,” More orange juice on the floor, “You don’t get a free pass just cause you almost died.”  
  
“Really? I thought it might endear you a little.” He rolls his eyes.  
  
“You called me a whore.”  
  
This disarms him, “What?”  
  
“A whore. The night you and Leslie broke up. You called me a whore.”  
  
“She told you that?”  
  
“No, I overheard her tell Ann,” she stops, stills, “You said something like that and then you left. You walked out.”  
  
Ben sits forward, “I was dismissed. Turned away at the door. Don’t you think that gives me the right to be angry?”  
  
“I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about me. You left me.”  
  
Something like an egg rises up in Ben’s throat. Everything is tight. His baby sister is standing before him accusing him of leaving her and it strikes him that he always thought of Jamie as small. She is small. Tiny even. Her features are doll like, perfect, he was always so proud of her. He wanted to protect her. Make her life everything it should be. And when everything had happened it was as if this girl he had rooted for popped like a soap bubble. She ceased to exist.  
  
But now for the first time in his life, Ben thinks he might have made a mistake. It doesn’t help her to think of her as small. It diminished his vision somehow because now he stares at her and small is the furthest word from his mind. Determined. Hurt. Survivor. But not small. And maybe if Ben had been a better person or if his father hadn’t left or if his mother had been warmer he wouldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have thought of Jamie as his to raise, to protect, and love with such close affection that he couldn’t let her go. Let her be human.  
  
And maybe he wouldn’t have been shattered when she turned out to be as flawed as he is.  
  
He slumps over, “You’re right I did.”  
  
“You were supposed to be my safe place. I came to you because I thought of all people, Ben will help me pick my life up and put it back together.”  
  
“But it was Leslie.”  
  
Jamie shrugs, “Ann helped too. And Ron. He got me the job. And April. She gets me better than Ann and Leslie sometimes. They’re kinda old. Like you,” he smiles, “and Andy made me laugh. Tom too. When he’s not hitting on me. Donna too. Jerry isn’t even that bad. They all helped, Ben.”  
  
“And I didn’t.” He’s destroyed the muffin, twisting it in his hands until it crumbled in his lap.  
  
Jamie rolls her eyes, “Good lord don’t flatter yourself. You’re still my brother,” she rounds the bed and shifts a hip to sit on its edge, “I still love you.”  
  
“I’m sorry I called you a whore. I didn’t mean it. Not at all.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I wish I could take it back.”  
  
“Let’s just say you owe me.”  
  
“Whatever you want.”  
  
Her mouth quirks up, “You mean that?”  
  
“Whatever abusive language you want to call me. You get a free pass,” he hold up a finger, “once.”  
  
“Four times.”  
  
“Twice.”  
  
“Three.”  
  
“Fine,” Ben smiles. Shares it with his sister. He would have gone for four or a thousand if that’s what it would’ve taken.  
  
So it is this seeing thing that prompts his fight with his mother. Cause once you start seeing clearly it is hard to stop.  
  
He notices the little digs. The way Diane pronounces Leslie’s whole name - Leslie Knope - like they were strangers. Her mouth pops on the P,  a dismissive wave of consonants. She brings up things Leslie wouldn’t know about. Recalls memories from their childhood and tries to get Jamie to participate in some sort of familial conversation that leaves Leslie on the outside. Jacks is gone - angry at Ben and desperate to get Ann to talk to him again - and it is just them and Leslie. Diane uses that. She invites Ben’s co-workers to come. Talks a lot to anybody who will listen about how much Ben loves his job. How much he loves Partridge. His life here, not in Pawnee.  
  
Leslie skims past it, offers people cookies that she ordered from the local bakery. Asks everyone’s favorite story of Ben. Shows Diane up by knowing more about the projects his office is working on than she does. She even entertains his mother in a conversation in her classes. It’s not an attempt to be close, but a check mate:  _You can undermine me all you want, and I’m just going to be more and more civil to you._  
  
And Ben has to work so hard not to read into it. Has to focus on the way Leslie litters their conversations with the word  _friend_. Punctuates it. How the only way she touches him is to help him, adjust a pillow or practice his crutches. How when he lightly suggests they settle an playful argument with a game of thumb war she stoutly refuses. Slips back behind that wall and becomes not-his-Leslie.  
  
So when Diane brings up, Ben might already be on edge.  
  
“I am happy to have the conversation with Leslie,” Diane says. His mother is folding up the few clothes someone ( _Leslie likely_ ) brought to the hospital for him. Ben is set to be released that morning. Jamie went back to Pawnee yesterday, back to her job and her life there. He is ready. He wants to get back to his house, his life, and out of this hospital. He will have to teeter around on crutches for another two weeks and he won’t be able to return to work for another week after that, but at least it is progress.  
  
“What conversation?” Ben looks up from his padfolio. Secretly, with Leslie’s help, he’s begun working again.  
  
“About going home. I mean it’s time this delusion she has about the two of you is stopped,” Diane laughs, looks to Ben to share her joke, but he goes very still.  
  
“I don’t think she’s under any delusions, Mom. If anything she’s been very clear. We’re friends, that’s it.” He makes a face at the end.  
  
Diane crosses to his bedside, “Ben, she’s been here non-stop for five weeks. That’s not the actions of a friend. That’s a woman obsessed with you. Jamie protected her when you were,” her voice trembles, “lost to us, but I’m not going to let her just hang around. I’m happy to tell her to go away if you want. Lord, knows you’re still recovering your strength,” she exhales, “and she can be very persuasive.”  
  
Ben says it as nicely as he can, “Mom, I am grateful for Leslie and I don’t want you to interfere.”  
  
She smiles, “You’ve always been the kindest among us.”  
  
“I’m serious,” he lowers his chin, meets her eye, “stay out of it. I care about Leslie very much and if you care about my happiness you will stay out of it.”  
  
Diane wrings her hands, “Ben, you don’t know what kind of person she is.”  
  
“I do know.”  
  
“No, you don’t!” She says it with force. The indulged concern slips away and Ben is a little startled. His mother is angry, “She will not compromise, Ben. She will never bend the way you hope she might. She is never going to leave that town and she will always have to have her way. It will never work between the two of you. She will cost you every dream of your own.”  
  
Ben goes very still. He swallows and tries to slow his breathing. Slow his gut which is telling him to burst out. To yell that she is wrong. But he doesn’t think this is all about Leslie. There is something wild in his mother’s eyes.    
  
“I am saying to stay out of it,” his voice is thick, grave.  
  
“I can’t do that!”  
  
“You are going to do that or you will not be in my life,” he clips the words, “Leslie is staying for the next two weeks. At my place. We’ve already talked about it. She’s going to help me until I get my casts off.”  
  
“I can help you.”  
  
“No,” he shakes his head, “I think you need some space. Go on a vacation. Clear your head. Something isn’t right with you right now, Mom,” he tries to soften his voice, “Take care of yourself. I’m fine.”  
  
She trembles, brings both hands to cover her cheeks, “I’m going to lose you.”  
  
Ben leans forward, grips her wrists, and tries to pull her closer to him, “No. Just stop pushing.”  
  
But his mother shakes her head, “No. I’m not going to stand by and watch you destroy your life.”  
  
Ben sighs. He lets go of his mother and sits back. Folds his arms across his chest, “Then get out.”  
  
Her eyes go wide, “What?”  
  
“I said get out. I don’t want to be around someone who thinks I can’t make my own decisions. Who treats me like,” he thinks of Jamie, “like a child. I don’t need someone like that in my life.”  
  
Diane laughs, but her eyes are scared, “Ben, stop being melodramatic.”  
  
But Ben doesn’t move. He just looks down at his lap. He can’t watch her face fall, the realization that he is serious slip across her features.  
  
“Fine,” her voice is thin, like crystal. She gathers up her purse and coat, “If that’s how you want it. Fine.”  
  
And with that she is gone.  
  
And Ben falls back against his pillow. Covers his face with his hands and wishes harder than he has since the night they broke up that he could have Leslie back. Could have access to her. Her thoughts and suggestions. Her compassion and laughter. Her damn perfect spirit.  
  
He just wants his best friend back.    
  
***  
  
“Where’s your mom?” Leslie breezes into Ben’s room a half hour later.  
  
He licks his lips, “She’s gone.”  
  
Leslie stops, tilts her head. Ben raises his eyes to meet her own. He holds his breath. His Leslie would ask why, cross to him, touch him somehow. Even before they were friends she breached that wall. Isn’t that what got them into that ridiculous fake dating situation in the first place? Leslie inquiring after him.  
  
But she doesn’t do that.  
  
She shrugs and crosses to the clothes Diane had been folding. Picks up where his mom left off.  
  
“I was thinking we could pick up dinner at Evanston’s,” Leslie says as she folds his boxers, “take it back to your place. Watch a movie.”  
  
Ben shrugs. He doesn’t know what to say. Has no idea what it is she wants this to be between them.  
  
“Or I can make dinner. I’m sure you’d like a home cooked meal after so much hospital food,” she laughs at this even though it isn’t funny.  
  
Ben sighs, “You don’t have to take care of me.”  
  
She waves it off, “It’s what friends do.”  
  
***  
  
When Ben moved back to Partridge his mother had wanted him to buy a house. For some reason Ben resisted and rented a one bedroom bungalow in the older part of Partridge. It wasn’t cool like his last place. He refused to let his mother decorate it. Instead he left the walls white and hung his favorite reproductions of vintage comic book covers, framed, all throughout his house. He tossed the quilt his grandmother made him on the back of his couch to warm it up. Threw out the baskets with those weird ball things in them. Bought more bookshelves ( _that didn’t match his current ones_ ) and dragged out all his extra books from storage.  
  
Made it his. Really his.  
  
So he’s really glad to come home to it. Ridiculously happy.  
  
And the fact that Leslie is there with him, holds the door open for him, that when he walks in he can smell her here amongst his things, that fact makes his stomach turn over. Flip flop.  
  
Leslie gets him settled on the couch. Puts his bag in the bedroom. And starts dinner. They stopped at the grocery store on the way home and Leslie had run in while he waited in the car. Wouldn’t tell him what she was making. It would be a surprise. She grinned at him, kind of like she used too, and he couldn’t help himself. He grinned back.  
  
At home, she gets him a beer, turns on the television, and chats to him about football from the kitchen. She’s well versed in the top stories on Sports Center, better than he remembered her ever being before and Ben would bet she studied up in anticipation of this.  
  
If they were going to spend two weeks together not talking then they’d need a lot of topics to keep them busy.  
  
At a commercial break Ben gets up to go to the bathroom. Leslie stops what she is doing. Comes to stand between him and the bathroom.  
  
“Leslie?” He leans into his crutches.  
  
“Um, do you need help?” She touches two fingers to her forehead.  
  
They both glance at the bathroom door.  
  
“No,” Ben says, tilts his head. She looks nervous. Like she’s been anticipating this: the awkward parts of caring for him. The bareness that might be involved. And something clicks in his head. How he might stand a chance of unsettling her reserve. The idea lodges in there and sticks.  
  
But not now. For now he just has to pee.  
  
“I’m fine Leslie. Seriously. I’ll let you know if I need help.”  
  
“Okay,” she nods quickly, obviously relieved.  
  
And when she walks away, Ben smiles. Finally.  
  
***  
  
She makes his favorite: lasagna. Puts his favorites into it: italian sausage, mushrooms, and spinach. Goes heavy on the ricotta. They eat at the table and she lights a couple candles. Bakes garlic bread and asks him about the accident.  
  
He doesn’t remember much. He and Diane had been driving home from something. There was a deer. There isn’t anything to talk about, he dismisses. It just sort of happened. Leslie watches him say it and Ben gets the feeling that she doesn’t believe him. He smiles harder trying to convince her. Asks her about Pawnee to distract her. That one works.  
  
She tells him about the Harvest Festival. About losing Lil’Sebastian ( _who he doesn’t really understand_ ) and Andy saying _awesomesauce_  when April told him she loved him. About the success waiting for her back in Pawnee.  
  
“You did it,” he says at the end, smiles.    
  
“What?”  
  
“You saved the Parks department and made a lot of people happy. You made it through a government shutdown with all your friend’s jobs intact. Didn’t lose a single person.”  
  
“Yeah, I did,” Leslie says, ducks her head.  
  
Ben frowns, “Who?”  
  
“You.”  
  
A beat.  
  
He says her name, “Leslie…”  
  
But it is over before it begins. She stands up and moves out of his reach before Ben can touch her arm. She carries their dishes over and Ben is left sitting at the table.  
  
***  
  
They watch  _The Day After Tomorrow_  and compare notes on the best disaster movies of all time:  _Armageddon_ ,  _Independence Day_ , and  _Joe vs. The Volcano_. Finish a bottle of wine and have a really good, easy time together. Ben lets himself slip into the easy companionship. He enjoys it for what it is and doesn’t let himself get too moody.  
  
But sometimes he catches Leslie’s profile. Lets himself linger.  
  
She’s changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants. The neck of the sweatshirt is stretched and it slips off her shoulder, exposes her collar bone. Ben remembers placing his lips on that collar bone. He can almost taste the saltiness of her sweat on his lips. Her skin always became inflamed right there, on her collar bone, when they made love. Beads of perspiration that he kissed away. And when she shifts to pick up her wine glass, when her sweatshirt dips forward to expose the swell of her breast, he has to shift his hips and tug a pillow over his lap.  
  
***  
  
When the credits begin to roll Ben stands. Leslie is mid-yawn.  
  
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says.  
  
“Oh,” she eeps, but collects herself and stands up. They are just an arm’s length apart, “Um. I have a plan for this. It’s in my binder. Let me go get it.”  
  
“Leslie-,” he puts a hand on her shoulder, “I asked Ann how to do this. I just need a little help.”  
  
“With what?” she asks cautiously.  
  
He smiles, “Come on.”  
  
They end up in his bedroom with two trash bags and duct tape. Ben sits on the edge of his bed and Leslie kneels between his legs. He grips the blanket to keep himself from reaching forward, cupping her elbows, and pulling her to him. Her eyes stay downcast and the beats between them, the silent moments, are heavy enough that he swear he can feel them.  
  
“Ann says we just have to keep the casts dry. I just need you to help me get the bags over them and tape them up.”  
  
Leslie licks her lips, “Um, okay. I guess take your pants off?”  
  
Ben grins, “I thought you’d never ask.”  
  
Her eyes narrow and a sense of triumph soars through him. That’s his Leslie.  
  
He scoots his sweats down over his hips and bites back the smart ass comment he has when he catches her watching him. Prays that his hard on from earlier has calmed down. Tries to think of unsexy things, like the signers of the constitution and former first ladies. Not of how Leslie’s hair falls across her forehead.  
  
“Nice boxers,” Leslie says dryly as she tugs his pants past his knees.  
  
“I’ve always been partial to lobsters.”  
  
Silently she cuts the bottom of each garbage bag. He tears strips of duct tape and hands them to her. Hisses when they catch the hairs on his thighs. When she is done Leslie sits back on her heels and grins. Triumphant.  
  
“Thank you,” Ben says. She stands up and holds her hands out to Ben. He lets her weight pull him up and wraps an arm around her shoulders. They inch toward the bathroom and Ben tries not to show how winded he gets from the short distance. Leslie settles him on the toilet. While she turns on the shower, Ben loses the t-shirt. When she turns around he is rewarded by her audible gasp.  
  
“You don’t expect me to take a shower in my clothes do you?”  
  
Her hand searches for the sink. Suddenly, the bathroom has gotten much smaller.  
  
Ben pretends he is unaffected by her obvious discomfort. He holds out his hands and she obliges. When she tugs him up this time he lets the motion knock him forward, to fall against her.  
  
“Sorry,” he mumbles, lets his fingers slip along her rib cage.  
  
“Sure you are.”  
  
And he holds onto her with one hand while he slips his boxers down with the other. Grins at the ceiling when she damns him.  
  
“What? It’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” he teases. She fixes her eyes on his face as she lowers to help him step out of his boxers. Not once do her eyes trail down there. And that is exactly what Ben wants. He wants her to look at him. Lock gazes. He wants her close like that even if he has to trick her into it.  
  
And Ben might have the upper hand. He might disarm her and set her breath askew, but it does the same to him. His stomach turns over and he finds himself, as he climbs beneath the spray of his stand up shower, gripping the sides not just for balance, but to keep himself upright.  
  
***  
  
Later, when Ben is clean for what feels like the first time in weeks and dressed in basketball shorts, Leslie strays in the doorway of his bedroom.  
  
“Goodnight,” she half waves.  
  
Ben, who is stretched out on his bed with a book, frowns, “Where are you going?”  
  
She jerks a thumb over her shoulder, “The couch. To sleep.”  
  
With more bravo than he really feels, Ben sits forward, shakes his head, “You don’t need to do that.”  
  
She eyes the bed, laughs, “You were very clever before, but I’m not going to sleep in a bed with you Ben.”  
  
He smiles, “Why not?”  
  
She takes a step into the room, “First because we’re not a thing anymore.”  
  
“You mean a couple.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Cause that’s what we were.”  
  
“And now we’re not.”  
  
He nods his acquiescence, “I don’t see why that means we can’t sleep in the same bed. It’s a big bed. I promise I won’t touch you.”  
  
She rolls her eyes, “Yeah cause I’m really afraid of you making a move with two giant casts on your legs.”  
  
“You know from experience I don’t need my knees to touch you.”  
  
This makes her turn pink and Ben ducks his head. Takes a deep breath. She takes another step into the room and Ben thinks this might be working. She is bothered, too bothered to remember to keep up her walls.  
  
“That is why I’m not going to sleep in your bed Ben,” she is mad, “this isn’t a game to me. Your friendship is too important.”  
  
“It’s not a game to me either,” he says it with dead seriousness, “Not in the least bit.”  
  
She gulps. Ben watches her eyes skitter away, start to tear up, and he decides it is time to let up. He wants to push, but not too hard.  
  
“Leslie,” he says her name softly, “sleep in the bed with me. It’s too big and too comfortable for you to sleep on the couch for two weeks. We’ll put a line of pillows down the middle. Like a fort.”  
  
This tugs a smile out of her. She wraps her arms around her waist, “You know how much I love forts.”  
  
He smiles with her, “You’re right. I do.”  
  
***  
  
And so Ben and Leslie sleep together…but not really. Not in the way that causes gasps and moans and long exhales. Instead, Ben listens to her brush her teeth in his sink. Tells her where his mouth wash is. He tries to act nonchalant when she pulls her sweatshirt over her head to reveal a thin tank top beneath. And obvious evidence that she isn’t wearing a bra.  
  
“What?” she grins when she pulls back the covers, “it’s not like you haven’t seen it before?”  
  
He shares his glass of water with her when she takes a sleeping pill. Frowns because she never needed one before.  
  
They don’t sleep together in the sexy times way, but they do sleep together. They read side by side in bed while the  _Daily Show_ plays quietly in the background, laugh at the same jokes, and when Leslie begins to nod off over her  _New Yorker_ , Ben takes it from her and sets it down next to his book. He turns off the light on his bed side table and flips off the television. He tugs the blankets up so they curl under her chin. And he holds back and doesn’t press his lips to her forehead despite the fact that he thinks he could get away with it.  
  
Not yet. Tonight is just the first night. He’s got thirteen more like this.  
  
The beginning of a long apology.


	12. Chapter 12

**Day 1**   
  


There is this scene in  _A League of Their Own_ (which Leslie makes Ben watch that evening) in which Tom Hanks, who plays the reluctant coach of this women’s baseball team, screams at a player he’s driven to tears, “There’s no crying in baseball. THERE’S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL. No crying.”

 

It doesn’t really relate except in Ben’s mind (which may or may not be going crazy bit by bit) and it only comes to him when he is lying in bed later that night with Leslie’s shallow snores whispering lightly beside him.

 

There is no crying in heartache.

At least not for him. Heartbreak, sure. That night, the one where his heart shattered, he had stood in the alley and cursed the sky. He felt the tears on his face, remembered that he hadn’t cried since his impeachment, and left them there anyway.

But heartache?

No, there is no crying in heartache. Drinking maybe, but his pain medication prohibits more than a beer. And Leslie doles out the pain pills on a tight schedule so he can’t even pop an extra one for a woozy buzz.

So instead his heart aches in his chest because the woman he loves lies next to him in his bed with a line of pillows between them. A fence or a hole or a gap. Whatever you want to call it, it means she is on one side and he is on the other. He’s earned this and he isn’t above making recompense, but after just a single day he wishes the ache would go away. At least with heartbreak you are broken. You can cry and get drunk and piss off a guy bigger than you in a bar. But with heartache the wound is fresh. It is tender because the proximity is so close. Just an arch of his hand and he could interlock his fingers with hers.

He counts her breathes like other people count sheep. And it hurts like hell.

***

The hurting begins before the sun even rises. He wakes up to Leslie tossing in her sleep. Leslie usually sleeps like a rock - you could roll her like a log and she wouldn’t stir. But now she shakes her head, mutters incomprehensible things, and kicks him in the shins right through the pillows. He wakes with a jolt, but stills as she tosses and turns. He remembers the sleeping pill she took before they went to bed and wonders if this is why.

But he doesn’t do anything. He lies back down and listens with his eyes shut. She sounds terrified. Or rather she sounds like someone is chasing her. She is out of breath and her feet keep moving as if she desperately needs to get somewhere. 

He doesn’t do anything because he knows she wouldn’t want him too. She wouldn’t want his intervention. Wouldn’t want to show him this side of her. It was too intimate. So with every ounce of self-control he has he does nothing because he knows it is what she would want.

At dawn, he wakes to an empty bed, which doesn’t surprise him. When they dated he always woke to an empty bed, but he is surprised now because her sleep had been so restless. She’d kept him up the better part of the night with her night terrors. Surely that had to catch up even with Leslie Knope?

But Ben can smell breakfast and he smiles. It is the sweetness that he smells – like the smell itself was a taste all onto itself – of cinnamon rolls. It is  _his_ favorite breakfast and Leslie makes them like no one else. She taught herself, experimented one weekend until her whole house was covered in sugar. You could walk into a room and find a puff of it floating in the air like a sugar ghost.

Ben pulls himself up out of bed, leans onto his crutches, and hobbles to the bathroom. He makes himself somewhat presentable with a splash of water and gargle of mouth wash. And then he follows the scent of cinnamon rolls out to the kitchen, letting the memories of the night slide away under the bed like a monster.

Leslie sits at his table, work spread out around her like a crescent moon. She holds a cinnamon roll mid-air and it drips icing onto her keyboard.

“This is perfect,” Ben says in the doorway. Leslie looks up, smiles, and nods toward the plate of rolls.

“They’re just hot out of the oven,” she takes a bite, “may be my best batch yet.”

That’s not what Ben meant, but he isn’t going to correct her.

He gets a plate and loads it up with two, but stops when he realizes he needs both hands to navigate his crutches.

“Leslie,” he tries not to sound helpless, “can you help me?”

“Of course,” she says and stands up.

It’s at this point that Ben notices the calendar. It is tacked to his dining room wall and it is made out of the butcher paper Ben knows Leslie keeps in her car. Where she got some in Partridge he has no clue. She’s torn some off and used the full set of colored sharpies he knows she keeps in her purse to draw up what looks like an hour-by-hour schedule of the next two weeks.

“Leslie do you have us throwing pottery later today?” Ben asks as he sits down.

“I had Ann bring my wheel up last time she and Jacks drove up here. It’s in your garage. Don’t you think that’ll be fun?” Leslie grins.

Ben can’t help it. He grins too. There is something infectious about her, about her plans and her optimism. It is just awesome. He wishes he could be more eloquent, but she, her, Leslie is just awesome. Awe-inspiring. Something else.

But Leslie’s chart doesn’t surprise Ben. He knows her by now that he can anticipate her.

“…And then I thought you could help me learn how to double dutch. We can tie one end of each jump rope to hooks I installed in the side of your house and you can do the rest. We’ll take a chair outside for you to sit on.”

Ben holds up a hand, “I have my own plans. For us. I mean.”

Leslie stills, “Ben?”

He shakes his hand, “Not for  _us_ us. Plans for us to do over the next two weeks. I came up with my own chart,” He reaches past her to his own pile of work stuff and finds the right legal pad. He slips it across the table to her. His is simpler. It is movies and meals cooked together. It is simpler because it is actually part of a bigger plan, one Ben isn’t going to tell Leslie about.

A plan to apologize. To hopefully, possibly, maybe win her back.

“But…but I have everything planned out. It was going to be everything I wanted to do when we were -,” she doesn’t finish that, “I mean I fit everything fun friends should do together into the two weeks before I have to go back,” she licks her lips, “I mean I guess if we sleep four hours instead of the six like I had planned we could fit your movies in.”

Ben shifts forward. He leans in a little, “Or maybe we could compromise. Do a little bit of what I want, do a little bit of what you want, and let the rest of it figure itself out?”

      Letting itself figure itself out is exactly what Leslie is trying to prevent. Her schedule doled out time like medicine. It was prescriptive. If everything went the way she planned then she might have a chance of getting out of here with her heart all to herself.

But then she looks at him and Ben knows she can see it in his eyes, the quiet hope. For whatever miraculous reason, Leslie can’t help but soften when she looks him in the eye. What did Andy say once, that the eyes were the windows to the house?

Ben says, “Leslie, please?”

A smile sneaks out, crosses her face, and Ben smiles at her acquiescence before going back to his cinnamon roll.

***

Here is Ben’s plan:

  1. Get Leslie mad.
  2. Make her laugh.
  3. Find out what he missed.
  4. Talk about what’s next for her.
  5. Figure out how he fits into that.
  6. Convince her to fall in love with him again.



Ben is not in Leslie’s league of elaborate schemes. He doesn’t do scavenger hunts and romantic gestures. He’s not good at them. But he is good at the details. That is why numbers and auditing were his thing. He was good at managing data and people and programs. He is not good at creating like Leslie. He has never built anything, not a park or something like the Harvest Festival. The one time he tried it had destroyed everything he loved.

Even his relationship with Leslie, which is the closest thing he’d ever claim to successfully have constructed, was built on the foundation of a lie. They had had a relationship before the real relationship. At the time Ben thought it was the only way, but now he wonders if it was the thing that undermined everything else.

But now…now he wants to build something real. Something that will last. He isn’t entirely sure he can do it, but he is willing to risk whatever he has to do it. And he will rely on the one thing he knows: the details.

There is no way to make someone fall in love with you. But Ben knows how Leslie works.

He needs to make her mad because she fights for things she cares about.

He needs to make her laugh because she is beautiful when she laughs.

He needs to find out what he missed because Leslie’s heart is in her work.

He needs to find out what is next for her because he believes in her.

He needs to figure out how he fits into that because he wants to be with her.

He needs to convince her to fall in love with him because…well he’d rather not think about what would happen if he fails.

***

They watch  _A League of Their Own_  because it is Leslie’s turn to pick. They pick it up at the store after Leslie masters double dutch. They order in pizza for Leslie and a calzone for Ben.

Ben notices she sits closer to him on the couch (only one cushion away rather than two) than the night before. Makes himself not read too much into it.

And when Dottie and Kit go at it for the hundredth time, Ben says, “Why do women have such a hard time getting along?”

“What?”

“Why do women have a harder time getting along than men?” Ben reaches over and picks a pepperoni off Leslie’s slice of pizza. She blinks and scowls.

“Women don’t have a harder time getting along the men. That’s a stereotype.”

“Stereotypes are usually based on some reality.”

“So blonds are all airheads?”

Ben licks his lips. He wants to get Leslie mad, not insult her. He steals another peperoni.

“That’s my pizza. Eat your dumb calzone.”

“I’m just saying,” he says between bites, “is that women have a harder time being friends with other women than men do with other men. Look at me and Jacks. We’ve never had a fight. And you spent almost the entire time we were dating being mad at Ann. Women are just cattier.”

“That’s because she was dating a moron. It had nothing to do with being girls.”

“Well, I still think it’s a little true.”

“Well, you’re an ass.”

  
**Day 2**

Ben’s favorite scene in  _Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark_  happens when Harrison Ford is searching through the crowd and he happens across a man with a long sword. The man swings the sword back and forth and for a moment you think that Indy is in over his head, but Harrison Ford plays is perfect. He almost looks bored, reaches for the gun at his hip, and shoots the guy.

Sometimes you have to shoot from the hip. Metaphorically of course. Ben is terrified of guns.

Leslie is still mad when they watch Indiana Jones over breakfast ( _waffles and omelets_ ). She gives one-word answers and refuses to laugh when Ben makes a pun ( _that used to always work_ ).

After breakfast she retreats to the bedroom where she curls up with a book. Ben hovers in the doorway under the guise of getting a sweatshirt.

“What?” Her back is to him and she is curled around one of his pillow. The pillow he uses every night actually and his mind can’t help but wonder if it will smell like her tonight.

“Nothing,” he swallows, “just need a sweatshirt.”

She looks up, “Do you need help?”

“Oh no,” he says faintly and wonders if maybe he dug himself a deeper hole than he intended.

“Good.”

Yeah, crap. He might just need to shoot from the hip.

**

Ben stations himself on the couch for the rest of the day. Leslie wanders through to fix herself a sandwich, but retreats back to the bedroom with her book. Ben occupies himself with work. He catches up on memos and email. He makes a few phone calls with his staff and lets reruns of Babylon 5 flicker on the television in the background.

And when the sun begins to sink toward the horizon he stands in the hallway. The door to the bedroom is wide open. On crutches he doesn’t move well, but he manages. He finds the apron Jamie gave him in the back of a closet, the one with the black and white checkers. He puts it on and opens a beer. He turns on the music – the crooning kind – and begins to cook.         

Even with the crutches Ben feels at ease in the kitchen. It is his kitchen. He makes one his favorite meals – steak and mashed potatoes. It isn’t fancy, but he knows how to grill a steak. His mom taught him how to season it and cook it so the juices pool in the potatoes and butter. There is a rhythm to it and Ben lets the cadence take over. He moves in the right order and the beer settles into his system, loosening the muscles and joints until he isn’t thinking existential thoughts of lost love and brokenness.

The water boils and the meat starts to sizzle just as the music changes and Al Green’s  _I’m Still in Love with You_ comes on. Leslie stirs from the bedroom. Ben starts to sing, to himself, because he is happy. Sometimes you have to just do what you do. You can’t worry about the other person – what they will think or how they will act – you just have to do what you do. And for Ben, right now, that means cook dinner.

And sing because why the hell not?

“ _And I’m still in love with you_ ,” he lets it go, skitters a note away from Al.

“Ben?” Leslie stands on the threshold to the kitchen and Ben swivels on his crutches, bobbing his head and holding out a note.

“ _Don’t you know I’m still in love with you_?” He approaches, but doesn’t meat her eye, croons and swings on his crutches until his toes touch hers. She doesn’t move. She stuffs her hands in her pockets and bites her lip. Ben finally opens his eyes and looks at her as he rides out the song, “ _Yeah I try if you want me to…_ ”  

She scrunches up her nose, “Ben?”

“Leslie?”

“What are you doing?”

“Making dinner.”

“No, what was that?”

“I was singing and dancing.”

“You never sing. Or dance. I remember distinctly trying to get you to do both in an elaborate game involving whipped cream and nudity. You would not sing and you would not dance.”

He tips forward into her personal space. He changes grip on his crutches, but makes no move to actually touch her, “Well there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Like what?” She raises her chin to meet his gaze.

“Like sometimes I feel like dancing and singing.”

“I don’t believe you,” she definitely is flirting now. He can see it in how her eyes narrow and widen at the same time.

For the briefest moment Ben is tempted, but he doesn’t. He pulls back from the razors edge and tips away. He backs up and with a smile jerks his head toward the fridge, “Want a beer?”

Ben is glad his back is turned so he can’t see if it affected her. His own stomach is flip flopping all over the place from the tone in her voice. The I-double-dog-dare-you-and-might-want-to-jump-you-at-the-same-time tone. He loves that tone.

The music changes again, Journey this time, and Ben picks up the chorus  _“Strangers waiting up and down the boulevard…_ ” as he hands Leslie her beer.

“Stop,” she laughs as Ben dances up on her ( _it really is more like shuffling and bobbing his head_ ). There is a guitar solo and Ben thrusts on of his crutches into her hands, “What do you want me do?”

“Come on,” Ben cajoles, “you’re going to miss it.”

She meets his eye and then breaks down and out into full air guitar with his crutch. They both catch the chorus. Ben sings into his beer bottle and Leslie is on her knees, rocking out with his crutch, “ _Don’t stop believing.  Hold onto this feeling. Don’t stop believing!”_

They both catch their breath and Ben holds out a hand to help her up. She takes it and when she stands he says it quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” He catches her off guard and he licks his lips, “The thing about women being catty. I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to get you riled up.”

She steps back, “You were trying to make me mad?”

Ben touches his forehead, “It wasn’t like that…I figured mad was better than politeness.”

“I was being too polite?”

“No. Too careful. You were being too careful. If I got you upset at least I’d get you even if…”

“Even if I thought you were an ass?”

“Yeah,” he looks at the ground. He feels exposed and he hates it. Exposure always made Ben nervous. It was such a risk, but he reminds himself to shoot from the hip. If he wants access to her he has to give her access to him, “kind of a stupid plan.”

“Uh yeah,” she steps closer, “I couldn’t understand why you would say something like that. It didn’t make any sense. You know better than that.”

They are inches apart, but there isn’t tension this time. This time it is soft. They are both out there on the cliff together.

“Remember the 4th? When you found out about Jacks sister and you had a hard time reconciling this kinda immature guy with this great brother?”

“Yeah.”

“And I said that not everyone has the ability to be every part of themselves all the time, like you,” Ben dares. He reaches out and tips her chin up, “That is a gift Leslie. It is one I don’t have. That I’m trying to learn from you. But I’m going to mess it up sometimes. I just need you to have some patience.”

And then because Ben is in it for the long haul, because he knows he has days of apologizing to do, he lets go of her chin. He steps back and lets both of them breathe. He turns away and doesn’t look her in the eye because he doesn’t dare to hope. Not yet.

 

**Day 3**

It’s Leslie’s turn to pick and she chooses  _Stardust_. Ben is dubious, but Leslie assures him it isn’t that different than _A Wrinkle in Time_. She’s right – it is an awesome movie, but there is something about it that irks him. It’s supposed to be the story of a boy becoming a man, and the movie says that will only happen once he wins the heart of his one true love. Given his current project Ben takes issue with that.

He is not a boy, yet he hasn’t won her heart. She is afraid of him. Afraid of being hurt again and Ben is fooling himself if he thinks he knows what he is doing. This is not a sure thing. He might not win the girl. Not a girl like Leslie. She is not someone who can be won. She can be impressed and cared for and loved, but she cannot be won. There is no plan that guarantees his success. All he can do is put himself out there and let her decide.

**

“I watched movies to get over you,” Leslie says it in the darkness, after they’ve turned out the lights and both lie in bed. Ben, who had been drifting quickly to sleep, is wide awake now.

“To get over me?”

“And Ann over Chris and Jamie over whatever that guys name is. We watched every romantic movie we could find to get over you.” Leslie rolls up onto her elbow and looks at Ben from across the line of pillows.

He can’t do anything but sit up, “Why?”

She shrugs, “I think because we wanted happy endings and those only happen in the movies. Real life is too complicated,” she picks at the pillowcase.

Ben reaches forward and rests his hand over hers. They don’t interlock fingers.

“That doesn’t sound like the Leslie Knope I know,” he says.

She moves her hand away, gently as if he might not notice, and lies back down. Ben does the same, but her head still peaks above the swell of pillow.

“Ben,” she says, “I’m not nearly as good of a person as you think I am.”

“Yes you are,” he says it simply and stares up at the ceiling, “Good night Leslie Knope.”

**Day 7**

They get back onto Leslie’s schedule. She perfects her double dutch and they make a whole set of pots for Leslie to take back to Pawnee as Sorry-I-abandoned-you-gifts. Ben gives her a tour of Partridges’ parks and admits they are not nearly as nice as Pawnee’s. Leslie admits that their downtown, a few historic blocks set around a brick square, is charming. They get lunch with Ben’s staff and Leslie regales them with the story of their fake dating escapades. She leaves out the real relationship part and sticks with the parts where she beat Penelope.

Ethel, Ben’s grizzled haired assistant, pulls him aside on the street.

“Why haven’t you married her already?”

“We’re just friends,” Ben repeats the line Leslie already used, “the best of friends.”

She peers at him over her glasses, “And I’m a super model.”

 

**

At home ( _and Ben can’t help but catch his breath every time he realizes that Leslie is in his home, sharing it with him, even if it is only for a few weeks_ ) they make paninis for dinner.

“I can’t believe you own a panini press,” Leslie laughs. She sits on the counter while Ben puts sandwiches together. Her feet knock against the cabinet door.

“I have a love affair with kitchen gadgets,” Ben grins, “hand me the mustard.”

“More like a predilection. Your whole linen closet is filled with things you’d buy off television.”

“I take offense to that. I’ve never bought anything off television. My appliances are chosen after much deliberation. They are top of the line”

She giggles, “I think that’s worse. Not only do you buy tons of stuff you never use, but you spend all your money on them.”

Ben leans back on his crutches, “I use them. You just never spent any time at my apartment when we were together. I had to make do with what was in your kitchen.”

Leslie mocked offense, “I have top of the line -,”

“Waffle makers. Yes, if I want to make waffles I am all set at your house. But otherwise the tools are a bit,” he scratches his nose, “wanting.”

“Well if you found my house so wanting why did you spend so much time there?” Leslie teases, but it tenses Ben. He ducks his head and moves around Leslie to the hot panini press.

“Hand me the sandwiches please,” he says. She obeys silently and Ben can feel her eyes on the back of his neck.

“Ben -,”

“I was there because I wanted to be near you. To be with you,” he looks up at her. He can see the trepidation in her eyes. He recognizes the fear in them, but he won’t lie.

“I know,” she looks at her hands.

“One would maybe ask the same question of you,” Ben leans toward her, “why are you still here? I could do this on my own and I have lots of friends who could come help if I needed it.”

Leslie tucks her hair behind both ears, “I hated you for leaving, Ben. It wasn’t even the breaking up part. It was how you didn’t even fight for us. You just left.”

“You refused to talk to me. You sent Ann out as some sort of proxy.” Ben felt the anger rise up, but he pushed it out of his voice. It lodged in his throat and shuddered out in a long, haggard breath.

“You treated me like I didn’t matter. Like I was a fool and knew nothing,” Leslie says, “but I was right. I was right about Jamie. She turned out fine. You are the one who ended up a mess.”

“Me?” Ben abandons his crutches and leans against Leslie’s knees, holds onto the counter from either side of her. She sits up straighter, but there is no where to go, “I ended up a mess? I moved home and rebuilt my life. I started over. What did you do? Pull off the biggest feat of your career and then turn down the one thing you said you ever wanted,” he watches her eyes widen, “Ann told me. She told me they offered to help run your campaign for City Council and you turned them down.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that you ran away from your dreams. I think it is the same reason you can’t sleep at night. I hear your nightmares. Why Leslie? What are you so scared of?”

She slides off the counter and Ben can’t move fast enough to get out of her way. Her body presses its length against him and he grabs onto her waist so they both don’t fall over.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she tugs away, but Ben holds firm.

“Answer the question, Leslie.”

“What question?”

“What has you so scared? Why are you still here?”

“Because I’m your friend, you moron,” she elbows him in the ribs, but doesn’t work too hard to get away, “a better one than you are. When you say you don’t want to talk about something I leave it alone.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Why are you such an ass sometimes?” she pushes against him and Ben lets her go, “Why is it so hard for you to open up? Why didn’t your brother come to see you in the hospital? And your dad? Where is your dad?”

Something in him freezes. Stiffens and straightens. Ben knows that feeling. It is the same one he’d get when the camera trained its lens on him. Too much exposure is dangerous. It can undercut you and leave you in pieces.

Leslie sees it in his face. She doesn’t soften, but she does back down, “That’s what I thought,” she wraps her arms around her waist, “so don’t judge me my own.”

**

Ben sleeps on the couch that night. He falls asleep watching  _Star Wars_ and doesn’t take anything away from it except the comfortable familiarity of something old. He feels too raw inside to venture near the bedroom and he knows he would not be welcomed. There is nothing comfortable about him and Leslie. He’s not sure what happened except the inevitable. There was too much between them for it not to hurt and he knows it is because they are not familiar with one another. They didn’t date that long and even though it was intense, more intimate than he’d had with any woman in his adult years, it hadn’t been familiar. They hadn’t gotten there and Ben falls asleep wondering if they ever will.

***

**Day 8**

Ben doesn’t wake up in the morning. He is woken up. Leslie sits on the coffee table and nudges his shoulder until he stirs.

“Wha…what do you want?” Ben mumbles.

“Are you mad at me?” She is cross-legged on the table and still in her pajamas. She chews on her bottom lip.

“Whadda do you think?” Ben rubs a hand through his hair. It hasn’t grown back it its full length, but it is getting there, “I have two broken legs and I slept on the couch.”

“I didn’t kick you out of the bed.” Leslie points out as she hands him a cup of coffee, “I guess you get under my skin.”

Ben looks up from his coffee, “I guess you get under mine too.”

“Truce then?” Leslie grins.

Ben knows it is a brokered peace. It doesn’t actually address anything, but he’ll take it because the way she looks at him, this sort of beaming thing she does. He’ll do almost anything to keep her looking at him like that.

**

As a peace offering, Ben makes waffles, which Leslie pronounces very fine considering his average waffle maker. They watch  _The American President_ because they both love it. If Leslie gets to have weird crushes on old politicians then Ben can have one on Aaron Sorkin.

 _Damn_ that man can write.

Leslie suggests they watch the  _West Wing,_ but Ben is feeling inspired. Patriotic and full of citizenship. He takes Leslie on a full and proper tour of Partridge. They eat lunch at the calzone stand and sneak into his high school. He shows her the gymnasium where he announced his bid for mayor during a pep rally and the auditorium where the town hall meetings were held when Ice Town bankrupted the town. They leave for happier memories and Ben directs her by the house he grew up in ( _Diane’s car was in the drive way so they didn’t linger_ ) and the ice cream parlor he worked in as a fourteen year-old. They stop by his office at City Hall and Ethel waggles her eyebrows at him when Leslie’s back is turned.

“Come on,” Ben touches the small of Leslie’s back, “there is something I want to show you.”

City Hall sits right off the town square, but Ben doesn’t move fast. He checks his watch twice before Leslie asks, “What is it you are in such a hurry to get too?”

“You’ll see. There is a ten minute window and I don’t want to miss it.”

Leslie follows Ben outside and across the square. She follows him until he stops in front of a bench and then she eyes him warily.

“This is what you wanted to show me?”

“Kind of. You’ll see,” he holds out a hand and she sits. He sits down next to her and leans in so his lips are close to her ear, “When I was mayor I used to come down here every day at exactly 3:15 because of this,” and he points as the children flood the square.

They come in twos and threes. They skip and run and shout. Their backpacks bounce on their backs and a few drag coats and art projects behind them.

Leslie’s eyes dance, “They just got out of school?”

“Yeah,” Ben sits back and stretches his arm on the back of bench. Leslie leans back into it and he forces himself to focus on the children and not the pressure of her shoulder blades along the inside of his elbow.

“They’re precious.”

Ben dips his head, “I used to sit here and watch them right when they got out of school. Even after my impeachment. Seeing how excited they were made it all seem a little bit better. I envied them their innocence and I wanted to do something to make it so they never lost it.”

Leslie turns her head into his shoulder. If Ben were to lean down he might be able to steal a kiss. Her nearness makes him heady and causes his stomach to do flip flops, “You like to take care of people, don’t you?”

“I like to fix things. I figure there is enough brokenness in the world. The least I can do is try to fix some of it.”

“Is that why you took the auditor job?”

“That was what I told myself. I think it was really to not have to come back here. Mom could have gotten me a job at the university. I was twenty-two and it was just too raw. I couldn’t do it.”

Leslie sits up, “You feel like you let them down. Partridge. You feel guilty.”

Ben swallows and shrugs.

She bends until she catches his gaze and locks her eyes on his, “Ben you have nothing to feel guilty about. You don’t owe this place anything.”

He looks up and around, “But I love it. I love this town. Let’s face it, Leslie I didn’t come from the warmest household. Partridge isn’t like Pawnee. It is small and everyone knows your business. When the university is out of session there is maybe 1100 people. And when my dad left us everyone knew and that mortified my mom. He didn’t leave us for another woman. He left us because we were small. This place was small and he wanted a life that was big. It killed her and -,” he saw Leslie start to protest and he holds up a hand, “I’m not trying to defend her. Her pride was wounded and she never really got over it so she drew a curtain around us. She withdrew from all the friendships and if it wasn’t for the people in this town I don’t know if Bartlet, Jamie, or I would have ever known a warm hand. Neighbors and teachers and Mr. Shepson at the grocery store told me they were proud of me. They let Jamie know it is alright to cry when you are sad and they put Barltet in his place when he was rude to them. My brother suffers from my father’s ambition and my mother’s pride. It makes him insufferable. That’s why he didn’t come visit me in the hospital. Jamie told him not to bother cause she knows I wouldn’t want it.”

“Ben, I’m sorry.”

He smiles, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She smiles, “And I get it. I get loving the place you’re from. I think it is romantic to love the place you are from.”

“That’s why you need to run for City Council,” Ben pokes her in the rib and she squirms, but gives a half-hearted smile, “I will never be able too, but you have the chance to make a real difference.”

“You make a difference too,” Leslie says, “in your job.”

“But the difference is I don’t inspire anyone in my job. There is nothing inspiring about a 38 year-old city manager. But a woman who puts her job on the line for her colleges, who never gives up, and who believes in a town even if the town doesn’t deserve it – that is someone who will inspire something great. She just has to remember who she is.”

**Day 11**

They watch  _The Dark Knight_ and Ben confesses his prize possession. He takes the costume out of the closet, tries on the mask, and Leslie giggles. He looks like a chipmunk she says. He is embarrassed and to make it up to him, Leslie tries on the costume herself. It is too big on her in some places, but she wears it the rest of the day. Makes her own confession that she has her own Batman costume, albeit much less expensive. She practices the voice the entire night.

It is an awesome day.

**Day 12**

They don’t watch a movie because it is the day Ben gets his casts off. His legs are wobbly, but Leslie is determined he jump right back into the swing of things and makes him take her dancing at a club two towns over from Partridge. They drink and sweat on a dance floor with kids twenty years their junior, but Ben is drunk enough to not care. He gets to put his hands on Leslie and she is laughing so all is right in his world.

And when the cab drops them off at home they lean against one another.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she giggles as he struggles with the keys, “why can’t we do this forever?”

Ben gets the door open now and Leslie steps across the threshold. He stands in the doorway looking at the moon, full and high above him, and wondering what the hell he let so much time slip by.

**Day 13**

Leslie loves Harry Potter and it is her day so they have it on all day, in the background, while she gets ready to leave. Ben watches from the couch. He’s supposed to be watching the movies but he doesn’t really care. He’s done everything he knows how to do and none of it matters. He tells himself that’s not true. They will always be the greatest of friends.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Leslie stocks his fridge. She packs up all his files and delivers them to his office. He sits on the couch and watches abracadabra movies. Pities himself because in this world magic doesn’t exist.

The boy doesn’t get the girl. He has to learn to live without her. Ben hates Harry Potter.

That is until Leslie hovers behind the couch, laundry basket on her hip, and sighs. The first part of the seventh movie is on. Harry and Hermione are dancing. Ben’s not really paying attention. He’s playing Angry Birds on his iPad.

Leslie sighs again.

“What?” he looks up.

“I never got Harry and Hermione.”

“Doesn’t she end up with Ron?”

“Yes!” Leslie leans a hip on the back of the couch, “and yet there are some people who insist Harry and Hermione could have been a thing. That if circumstances were different…but it is so clear from the fourth book on that she is hung up on Ron. Harry never even had a chance.”

Ben looks at the screen as Harry and Hermione stop dancing. There is a look, a lingering gaze, and he swallows.

Maybe he and Harry have a bit more in common than he thought.

            **

They make the mistake of watching  _The Day After Tomorrow_  ( _because they both love disaster movies_ ) right before a storm takes out their electricity. Ben, the safety freak, has a whole closet full of supplies. They light the emergency candles and eat granola bars for dinner on Ben’s bed. Swap stories about the camps their mothers sent them too as children and their Model UN days. Ben can’t help but grin when Leslie admits she is impressed.

“Did you ever make it to the Mid-West championships?” she looks over at him. Ben sits up against the headboard and Leslie is spread out on her side, her head propped up by her elbow.

“Phsssh,” Ben unwraps another granola bar, “of course. We represented the Double A division at Nationals my junior year.”

“I was there too. Isn’t that crazy? We could have competed against one another.”

“We were in different divisions. Pawnee is a lot bigger than Partridge.”  

“That’s true,” she sits up, “Did you ever make out at those conferences?”

Ben blushes, “That conference my junior year was were I um…you know.” But Leslie just looks at him and Ben waves his hand, “you know _did it_ for the first time.”

“You lost your virginity at a Model UN conference!” she laughs, “You’re such a nerd!”

“What about you? Did you make out at those conferences?”

Leslie shakes her head, “No, it was against the rules. No purpling.”

“Purpling?”

“You know…boys are red and girls are pink. Pink and red make purple.”

“And I’m the nerd?”

She sits cross-legged next to him now and gives him a little shove. Ben captures her elbows and pins them to her sides. She squirms and laughs, lets out that cackle he loves. He pulls her onto his lap, tickling her beneath the ribs. She is his for a moment, at his mercy, as he snakes his free hand under her t-shirt to reach her even more sensitive skin. But soon she hooks an arm around his neck and uses it to hoist herself to her knees. She straddles him and they both realize it at the same time. She’s not touching him except for her hands on his shoulders, but her chest is in his face and if she bent down just a few inches it could change everything.

“For you I would’ve broken the rules,” she breathes.

Ben can hardly focus. The flip flops, which have become a constant in the last few days, have spread. Every nerve in his body is on. He runs his fingers down the underside of her forearms and is rewarded to feel her shiver under him.

“Leslie,” he says her name because he doesn’t want to lose it.

“I’m scared,” she lowers herself onto his lap and Ben anchors his arms around her back.

“Me too.” He scarcely breathes. The weight and feel of her in his arms is enough to make him heady, but the tremble in both of them is what he feels right now. It is a precipice, “Leslie, I am in love you. I have been since that day you walked into my office and risked your job for a fair.”

She meets his eye, “I wanted to hate you after you left. I wanted to so badly and I tried. I tried to get cynical and give up on love. I watched what it did to Jamie and I vowed I’d never let a man matter that much. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t hate you,” she grips his t-shirt in her hands and tugs a little, “And that just made me hate you more because you are so damn inconvenient to love.”

“Then why…” Ben stammers, “You love me?”

She nods.

He exhales, “Then why all that talk about friends?”

“Because you scare me,” she finishes, “you scare me more than anything. More than running for office. More than anything.”

He cups her face with both hands and she leans down so their foreheads touch.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he whispers.

She grips his wrists, “You can’t promise that. Nothing’s changed.”

“Yes it has,” he arches up and brushes his lips across hers. If he could move in, relax into it; kissing Leslie would be like coming home. It would be perfect and everything, but he can’t move in. He pulls back and sees tears in her eyes, “don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry for what I did that night. For leaving and not fighting for us. I am sorry.”

“I know,” she swallows, “but I don’t think it matters. We wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

“How can you say that? I love you.”

She smiles, “I really like hearing you say that.”

“Then let me say it,” he kisses her, but she pulls away.

“Your mother is right about me, Ben. I’m only going to hold you back. I love Pawnee and you love Partridge. And if you don’t stay here you’ll go somewhere else. You’re not going to move to my hometown and work for some accounting firm. You’re too good for that.”

She starts to climb off of him, but Ben is too quick. He holds onto her and rolls. They fall on their sides and Ben tangles his legs with hers. She doesn’t pull away and Ben tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “Let me love you Leslie. I’m not too good for anything. I’m in love with you and that is all that matters to me. I want to help you run for city council and hold you when you have a nightmare. I’ll eat waffles every day and move to Pawnee and I won’t break your heart. I promise. Just let me love you.”

She doesn’t say anything and Ben finds himself holding his breath. They lie there while the storm outside rages. He thinks of that night – their first time – and he shivers. He doesn’t even care about the sex part. He remembers how she curled around him, clung to him, and heard his name on her lips. He can scarcely believe he might never experience that again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She trembles, “Love me.”

His lips crush to hers and Ben finds the end of his sentence, the one he could never quite finish. It is the beginning of the rest of his life.

**Day 14**

Ben doesn’t understand what happened.

He wakes up to an empty bed, but that doesn’t surprise him. He untangles himself from the sheets, pulls on a pair of basketball shorts and ventures toward the kitchen, fully expecting Leslie to be at the table with work.

But she isn’t. He searches the house, but she is gone. He checks the driveway, but his car is still there. Panic sets in and he goes racing to the bedroom. He throws open the closet door where Leslie had been keeping her things. Her suitcase and clothes are gone.

“God dammit.”

He tries her phone, but there is no answer. It doesn’t even ring. She turned it off.

Ben calls Jamie and Ann and Jacks. No one picks up. He calls Ron, but he doesn’t pick up either. Worry sets in and Ben checks the news, but there is nothing. He calls the hospital and the police station, but again nothing. He searches the house for a note, something, but there is nothing.

And just when he is ready to go out of his mind his phone rings.

It is Ann.

Ben picks it up and watches his fingers visibly shake.

“Where is she?”

“Before you get -,”

“Did she send you to break-up with me again?”

“Listen asshat, I don’t even want to be calling you but I don’t have a choice. You need to get on a plane and come down here. Penelope stole Leslie’s job.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Ben Wyatt is a pragmatic man.

  


Tempered. Logical. Jamie would go as far to say he is calculating. When their dad left it was Ben who compartmentalized. He was able to keep up his grades, take care of Jamie, and comfort his mom because he could break it down and make sense of why his life was coming apart. It made him a damn good auditor and even better city manager.

But there is another side of him too. One that rarely comes out. It is the romantic, jump off a cliff, throw caution to the wind side of Ben Wyatt. This side, like Jekyl and Hyde, takes over when it surfaces. It drives him mad. He _has_  to do whatever it is that overcomes him. It is this Ben that ran for mayor and built Ice Town. The same compulsion took Leslie up on her offer to pretend-date. It always led to his greatest heartbreaks.

But it led him to his proudest moments too.

He finally admits this after he hangs up with Ann. He sinks down onto his bed. The sheets are still rumpled from the night before. He holds his phone in his hands. Tosses it from hand to hand. He thins his lips.

Does he go?

The logic roars in his chest. He laid it out there. Had spent two weeks apologizing. Loved her. Begged her. And still she left him. If that wasn’t any indication of how this would always end, what would be?

_But…_

The voice cannot be quieted. But, remember how you thought the same thing after she sent Ann out to break up with you on her porch? Remember the logic there and how it had been wrong. If only you’d fought a little harder, pounded on the door, and made a few demands you two might not have missed each other for so long.

Ben tosses the phone back and forth. Back and forth. Which choice?

The risker one or the lonelier one?

And then the thought slips into his head faster than he can stop it.

_What would Leslie do?_

He laughs. Should he really be taking advice from Leslie-in-his-head about the real Leslie? But the answer is easy. Leslie would say screw it. Consequences be damned. Go after her because he will miss her for the rest of his life if he doesn't. He knows it. He’ll never stop thinking about her. He might fall in love with someone else. Ben imagines for a second what it would be like to marry not-Leslie. To have a child together and grow old in Partridge. He glimpses it and knows he could do it. He would find happiness there.

But she would always be not-Leslie and Ben might be happy, but he wouldn’t believe in much. He wouldn’t wake up smiling into sunshine because that is what it meant to hold Leslie Knope close in the mornings. The _wouldn’ts_  weighed too heavily for Ben to at least not try.

What would Leslie do? Leslie would say screw it.

He was going to Pawnee.

***

He might be acting on impulse, but Ben is still Ben. He has to have a plan first. He calls Jacks.

“Why should I help you?” Jacks picks up the phone already angry, “Do you know how much damage control I’ve had to do with Ann thanks to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

There is a pause.

“That’s okay dude.”

Ben smiles. He wouldn’t admit this to Leslie, but he stands by that thing he said about men and women and fighting.

“Listen,” Ben runs a hand through his hair. It has grown back almost to the length it was before the accident. He can feel the scar on the crown of his head and he drops his arm, “have you heard about Penelope taking Leslie’s job?”

“Yeah, Ann called me pissed. I was a little scared,” Jacks said, “Apparently Leslie didn’t file the proper paper work for the last batch of her vacation time so technically she didn’t show up to work for the last two weeks. It gave Chris all the cause he needed to fire her and give Penelope her job.”

“Why does Penelope want Leslie’s job?”

“She says its cause she is marrying Chris. She wants to get off the road.”

“And this is the only job in Pawnee?”

“They’re in a hiring freeze.”

“Shit,” Ben rubs a hand over his face, “a hiring freeze I initiated.”

“Yeah. It sucks, but I don’t know what Leslie can do about it.”

But Ben’s mind is already working. He knows the Pawnee city employee handbook inside out. He rewrote half of it over the summer to streamline policies, save the city money, and trying to avoid cutting benefits. There had been so many rules and forms and reports required to do the simplest of things. He had automated many policies, including vacation time. If a person’s immediate family member was gravely ill or injured then they automatically got two weeks off. There wasn’t even a form to fill out. As long as his or her direct supervisor knew about it, then…

“Jacks,” Ben says, “she’s appealing it, right?”

“Yeah. I think today.”

“You need to stop her. You need to get Ann to stop her. Postpone it a day or two days. I need to get down there. I have to talk to Ron.”

***

Ben has a hell of a time finding Ron’s house. There is no public record of his address and it takes everything he can levy to get April (via Jamie) to give it to him.

But he’s got it. Or at least he’s got a set of instructions that have taken him from Indianapolis to the outskirts of Pawnee, down a dirt road into the woods, and now to the side of a lake. He swears and rereads the instructions. There should be a dock with a rowboat tied to it. Take the boat to the island in the middle of the lake.

She’s got to be fucking with him, right?

But it is the only option Ben has. He rubs his forehead. He is temped to lean forward and rest his head on the steering wheel, shut his eyes, and give up. He’s exhausted. He’s been on a plane, in a car, and now about to get on a boat for close to twenty hours. There had been delays getting out of Chicago and he’d spent the night sleeping straight up at the airport in hopes of catching the 6:00 a.m. flight from O’Hare to Indianapolis.

But Ben touches his pocket. Feels the box that is in there. This was part of the plan. Time to see it through. Sighing, Ben gets out of the car.

It takes him twice as long as it should to row the boat to Ron’s island. He knows he looks ridiculous, going in circles and swatting at mosquitoes. But he gets there. Makes it to the dock. His dress shirt is stuck to his back and he shed his suit coat minutes after getting into the boat. He’s not sure why he’s wearing a suit except this seems like the type of thing you do in a suit.

“Benjamin,” there is a click and Ben freezes. He knows the click. It is the sound of a shotgun being readied, “what are you doing here?”

Ben throws up his hands, “Don’t shoot. I come in peace. And steak. I brought steak. And fine cigars. And whiskey.”

He looks over his shoulder. Ron stands at the end of the dock, chewing on a toothpick. His head is tilted as if he is considering something.

“What is that you want?” Ron says finally.

“I’m here cause I want to help Leslie,” Ben turns around, gingerly, in the boat. It is slowly floating toward the dock on its own and Ben catches the far post with his arm. It jerks him and the bag of items at his feet. Ron looks down his nose at them and something in his cheek twitches.

“Seems like you helped Leslie plenty. Getting her good as fired and the rest of us stuck with that Penelope character.”

“I…I have a way to fix that,” Ben puts out both hands, “I came here to talk to you about it.”

“Why don’t you talk to Leslie about it?”

“I will,” Ben shudders a little, “but I need your help.”

“Why should I help you?”

It is accusatory and Ben understands, but at the same time he’s not the bad guy. He messed up but so did Leslie. Of course none of this matters to Ron whose allegiance would always be for Leslie. Ben respected him more because of that. But he straightens in the boat and looks Ron in the eye best he can. He needs Ron to believe him.

“Because I am in love with her.”

***

Leslie Knope wrings her hands, shifts her legs, and considers if she should go to the whizz palace again. On the bench next to her, Ann glances sideways.

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“This isn’t going to work.” Leslie mutters, “Technically they have every right to fire me.”

“But Leslie Chris can’t hire his fiancé to the only position available in the whole government, a position she’s not qualified for and that is only open because of a technicality,” Ann repeats what Leslie is prepared to tell the employee relations panel that had been commissioned to hear her appeal.

“I know,” Leslie sighs, “I keep telling myself the same thing, but I don’t think it is going to matter.”

Ann frowns, “I hate to see you so sad.”

“I am sad.”

“But is it just about the job?”

“What?” Leslie looks at her best friend’s earnest face, “what else would it be about?”

“Maybe Ben Wyatt? The reason you’re in this mess to begin with.”

“This has nothing to do with him,” Leslie says, too quickly.

“Leslie,” Ann touches her elbow, “have you called him? Does he know about what you’re facing?”

Leslie shook her head, “I can’t. Not yet. I have to deal with this first.”

“You never told me how it ended. You just said you ran out of there.”

Leslie swallows the emotion. She is about to face three people and plead for her career,“Later Ann, please,” she says, “I can’t. Not now.”

Ann sits up, drops her hand away from Leslie’s arm, and thins her lips, “If it hurts that much then maybe he matters that much.”

“I know.”

“Then he should be here. For you,” she tips her head, “And it isn’t his fault he’s not here. Not this time. It’s yours. You left him.”

“I know.”

They sit in stony silence as Leslie waits. She hears footsteps falling and looks up to see Chris, flanked by the three members of the panel, coming down the hall. The members go into the conference room, but Chris stands in front of Leslie with his arms folded.

“Leslie Knope,” he says, “I’m sorry to have to do this to you. I wish you wouldn’t fight it.”

“What else do you expect her to do ass?” Ann stands up, “you know this was sneaky. You know it was wrong. But you do whatever that witch woman says.”

Chris swallows hard, “This is all making me very depressed and I don’t like to be depressed.”

“I hope you get ulcers,” Ann hauls Leslie up by the arm, “Come on, let’s go get your job back.”

Leslie follows Ann into the conference room, looking over her shoulder as Chris begins to hyperventilate into a bag. She is still watching him when Ann stops short in front of her.

“Leslie,” Ann shakes her, “Leslie.”

She turns and sees him. He’s sitting at the table. Ben. Next to him is Ron. The three-committee members look between her and him, confused.

“You’re here.”

He rises, “Ann called me.”

Ann knocks Leslie with her elbow, “I’m sneaky.”

But Leslie can’t tear her eyes away from him, “What…what are you doing here?”

Ben looks at Ron, who nods and raises an eyebrow at Leslie. She doesn’t know what the look means. Ann pushes Leslie forward a half-step.

“Um,” Ben clears his throat, “you forgot something in Minnesota and I brought it back to you.”

Leslie’s mind goes through her suitcase. Her pottery wheel. She’d left her pottery wheel in Partridge, but surely he didn’t mean that?

“What?”

Ben takes three steps toward her and Ann pushes Leslie that last half-step she needs until she is standing right before him. She can smell him and see the stubble he hasn’t bothered to shave off this morning. It is the same stubble that rubbed her raw two nights ago. She presses a hand to her abdomen, remembers the redness of her skin under his. Her stomach flip flops.

“This,” Ben reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a box. It is small and Leslie can’t breathe.

“What are you doing?” she looks at the box. He opens it and a ring, glinting under the florescent lights, stares up at her.

“Giving you your ring back.” He looks at her with complete seriousness. Leslie searches his eyes for the joke, but there is nothing, “you left it when you hurried back and I thought you’d miss it.”

“What is going on?”

“Leslie, put your damn ring back on.” Ron says. She’d almost forgotten he was there.

“But that’s not mine,” she stammers.

“Yes it is,” this is Ann. She smiles at Leslie.

“No, it’s not.”

Ben tips his forehead to hers, “Yes it is. I came down here during the Harvest Festival and proposed to you. You said yes and then I went home to tell my family. I was going to quit my job and move to Pawnee to be with you. But there was an accident and you spent five weeks at my bedside and another two weeks helping me heal. Me, your fiancé.”

He slips it over her trembling fingers while he speaks. It slides over the knuckle and nestles there perfectly.

“I don’t know-,” she stammers, but Ben kisses her, cuts off the words before she can say them. She should push him away. He and Ron and Ann must have eaten something sour if they thought this ploy would work on the committee. But she doesn’t pus him away because it is him and he is here. Even though she freaked out and ran, he came after her. He didn’t give up.

It is him who breaks away when the door opens and Chris enters. But Ben keeps a fast hold on Leslie, an arm anchored around her back. It reminds her of the day she twisted her ankle trying to beat up Penelope. And for some strange reason the image of that mother eating with her daughter on a hill in a park comes to mind. Leslie doesn’t know why, but she is overcome with the image. She wants that. Not the daughter, not tomorrow at least, but she wants the possibility of that.

She had asked Ron, back when they were all at that awful cabin, if it was possible to love your life but still want more. He had said that they were all there – in that place happiness resides. People like Penelope, and maybe even Chris, weren’t. They searched and searched for something to satisfy them and destroyed things in the process, but they would never land.  
  
But for the rest of them, there was joy in life. Joy in the small things. Jamie found it through the heavy work of putting herself back together. Jacks looked at Ann and Ann was looking, perhaps for the first time, at her future and what she might want to do next. All of her friends were the type of people, even April, who found a way in each day to soak up joy.

She catches Ben’s profile. The ridge of his nose has the slightest bump, she realizes. How had she never seen that? It makes her smile. There is so much to discover about him. So much she loved.  
  
Leslie Knope loved her life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t want more too.  
  
Couldn’t say screw it and take the risk.

Someone tells Chris what is going on but Leslie barely hears it.

“That isn’t true,” Chris blubbers, “they were not engaged before Leslie Knope took unapproved time off.”

“Yes they were,” Ann crosses her arms, “I was there.”

“So was I,” Ron says and produces a folder “and I have signed affidavits from April Ludgate, Andy Dwyer, Donna Megel, Jerry Gergich, Tom Haverford, Jamie Wyatt, and a Jacks Jackson attesting to the same fact.” He reads the last name before handing all of the documents over to the committee, “That is a very stupid name,”

“And according to the city employee handbook section 8.D Paragraph 135,” Ben nods and Ann pulls out of her bag a copy of the handbook and slides it across the table next to the affidavits, “any city employee who has a family member gravely injured or ill gets an automatic two week leave. It doesn’t require a form. It just requires the express knowledge and permission of her direct supervisor.”

“Which she received,” Ron’s mustache twitches. He loves getting the better of government.

“But fiancé does not equal immediate family member,” Chris blusters.

“In Pawnee it does,” Ben grins, “so do pet raccoons and anyone named Bob. Written into city code.”

“Even if that were true,” Chris approaches the committee, “Ms. Knope took seven weeks off.”

“But I put in for and was given permission for five of them to be vacation time,” Leslie protests. She leaves Ben behind and stands side by side next to Chris, “And I would like to draw attention to the fact that Chris hired his fiancé for my job when she does not have the qualifications.”

“She’s allergic to grass,” Ann bends forward, “Just putting that out there. Not sure how you’re going to be the deputy director of a parks department when you are allergic to grass.”

They stand silent as the committee members pass the documents among themselves. Ben’s hand finds the small of her back again and the flip flops in her stomach twist and shout. He smiles at her and when she smiles back his only broadens.

“Why did she leave the ring in Minnesota?”

“What?” They all look at the committee.

One of the members looks over her glasses, “Why did she leave the ring in Minnesota?”

“Because….because…” Ben stammers, throws Ron a wild look.

“Because I was scared,” Leslie says. It tumbles out, “I was scared that if I committed to Ben I couldn’t commit to the other things I loved like this town. I didn’t think I could be lucky enough to get both,” she turns away from the committee members and looks at Ben, “I was afraid I would have to choose.”

“You don’t,” he whispers.

But Leslie shakes her head, “I might. Someday. I might need to choose you over Pawnee, but that’s okay. Change is part of life and even though I love it here that doesn’t mean I can’t love you too.”

Ben beams at her, “And the rest we’ll figure out together.”

She nods, “Yeah we will.”

And it doesn’t matter anymore what the committee decides (though they side with Leslie) because Leslie knows she’ll be alright either way. She has friends, fabulous wonderful friends, who will stand up for her and a man who she loves and loves her back. He loves all the parts of her, even the fears that hurt him, and there is nothing pretend about that.

***

Later that evening, after the We-Beat-Penelope celebration calmed down and everyone left Leslie’s house, Ben brings her a glass of wine from the kitchen. She is stretched out on the couch and lifts her feet so he can sit down. He pulls them into his lap.

“So I was serious about that ring,” he leans his head against the back of the couch and stares straight ahead. Leslie sits all the way up.

“And I was serious about what I said about being scared.”

He looks at her, “You should run for city council.”

She takes a sip of wine, “Run my campaign for me.”

“What?”

“Marry me and run my campaign.”

“What about being scared?”

“What about it?” she sets down the glass and climbs into his lap. Ben’s arms came around her, “I think it’s good to be scared. Your mom was right about us. We’re strange bedfellows. You’re kind of uptight.”

“And you follow your gut with blind optimism.”

“It’ll be hard,” she tips her forehead against his and his palm comes up to cradle the side of her face, “but all good things are hard.”

“Leslie,” Ben meets her eye, “will you pretend-marry me so we can date for real.”

“I’ll do you one better,” she smiles, shifts, and gets on her knees so she is straddling him. She looks down at him and hooks her hands in his hair, that glorious hair, “will you real-marry me, Ben Wyatt, and we’ll pretend you thought of it first.”

Ben captures her lips against his. They wrap around one another, melting, and coming out as one. Leslie feels like she is sinking into something permanent. There is no rush or desperation. Instead, the passion is an undercurrent. She could be afraid it will tow her under. She could be afraid being with Ben means giving up herself and her dreams, or she could see if differently. She could choose to believe that love doesn’t have to be applied one way. You can love more than one dream. You can hold them together and see what happens. 


End file.
